


Steve Draws Bucky Eight Hundred Times

by wordsphoenix



Series: Steve and Bucky have a house now [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1930s memories, Bucky Processing His Emotions, Bucky's finally gonna finish the damned basement in this one, Bucky's turn for a feelbetter arc, Gay Bucky Barnes, Healing, I'm not gonna hit you with flashbacks I don't want my boys to suffer, M/M, Recovery, Therapy, also there will be knitting, bi steve rogers, blanket warning for Bucky thinking bad thoughts when he wakes up in a shitty state, bucky pov, he's getting good at talking himself through it at this point though, inner monologues, just Bucky figuring shit out, there are some bad days and some good days, they've been together forever, though Steve's there all the time, though there will be a few memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:51:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsphoenix/pseuds/wordsphoenix
Summary: Bucky's back with Steve, and Steve is fine. Bucky's okay, but he's still working on it. Also there's the fact that he legally does not exist. Might want to sort that out. So he can, you know. Regain some semblance of a normal life now that he has a stable location and a stable Steve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for even showing up here at the beginning of Recovery Boys Volume 3. This one is more detailed about Bucky's mental state than past ones have been for Steve's POV. He pretty much cruises in and out of it with the story. Comment if you need any specific warnings, but if anything changes drastically I will alter the tags and post a note before whatever chapter.
> 
> I AM ONLY POSTING ONCE A WEEK NOW I AM SORRY CHAPTER TWO IS TOO SHORT RIGHT NOW ILY THANKS FOR READING

            “Look at us. Moved in with each other before we fell in love, and then we moved in with each other before we started necking again- Don’t you think we’re taking this out of order?”

            “You’re taking this out of order,” Steve said, head still pressed to the pillow.

            Bucky slapped a hand on his spine. “Whatever happened to early bird Steve, huh?”

            “He’s gone. Never knew him. Steve who?”

            Bucky started beating him with a pillow. Steve didn’t move. “You know,” Bucky said between whacks, “life’d be a lot easier,” whack whack, “if you’d just get,” whack, “out of,” whack, “bed!”

            “I haven’t had sex in seventy years, Buck. Give a guy a break.”

            Bucky laughed and fell back against the headboard. “I know. I had to promise Bruce we hadn’t consummated the century before he let me outta the tower the other day. But you’re a super soldier, too, Steve. If I can recover from that conversation you can sit up. Right?”

            Steve groaned into the pillow.

            That was when Bucky started to worry. “Steve? Stevie? You okay?”

            “M’fine.” He didn’t sound very convincing.

            Shit. “Stevie. Don’t lie to me.” He’d just been joking _joking_ he didn’t think Steve was-

            Steve groaned again. It’d been a cheap shot, and Bucky knew it; nickname and pleading in the same breath? Still, might be the only way to get Steve moving at all that day. Might be the only way he’d tell Bucky what was wrong.

            After a couple more seconds of silence, Steve said, “I think it’s a bad day, Buck.”

            Bucky stamped down the panic that rose in his chest at that and reached out to lay a gentle hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry baby. I know you don’t- I know you probably don’t want to talk right now, but is it-”

            “No.” Had to have been the pain in Bucky’s voice that got Stevie to look up. “Not that. Sometimes I just remember I’m a hundred years old, and it… aches.”

            “Okay,” Bucky said, forcing the panic back. “Okay. Want me to stay up here with you?”

            Steve mumbled something about not ruining Bucky’s day, already buried in the pillow again.

            Sometimes it was like that. Bucky knew it was like that. Steve’d wake up a little sluggish and go from fine to sinking in a split second. Not like Bucky didn’t do it, too. It was just different. Bucky could get out of bed easier when it happened. He could pretend. Couldn’t trust himself to do much else, but Stevie always kept an eye on him and he was grateful for that. No- when Steve had a bad day sometimes he couldn’t move. Hadn’t had one that bad in a while, maybe he thought one was coming, shit, Steve was always doing that, thinking bad things were gonna come and making them accidentally, he’d never admit it but Bucky had seen that hesitation growing in Steve’s eyes for weeks. Self-fulfilling prophecy, Steve called it. When he was in a sarcastic enough mood to talk about it at all.

            He wasn’t in a talking mood then.

            “I’m gonna make breakfast. You want some breakfast?”

            Steve hummed. He was probably at least a little hungry. Steve’s metabolism had a way of overriding his brain’s emotional-nausea sensors.

            Bucky was grateful for it. “Okay. I’m making pancakes or something. You always like pancakes, right? Easy, Stevie. You don’t have to get dressed. But I want you to come eat with me, if you can, okay?”

            A hum of acknowledgment.

            Bucky went down to the kitchen and waited for muscle memory to kick in.

            He knew how to cook. He’d figured it out the first time, after ignoring his ma’s attempts to teach him, and then a second time, when he was in a trench without any silverware, and then a third time pretty recently, because twenty-first-century takeout got old surprisingly fast, even in New York. The task was easy. Methodical. Kept the worry at bay. Wasn’t panic. Not anymore. He trusted Steve. He trusted Steve and Steve needed him. No time to panic now.

            Bucky waited ‘til the first batch were cooking and sat on the floor for a second.

            Get up. Get up get up get up.

            He didn’t burn them.

            Went upstairs to check on Steve. Didn’t want to yell. “Can you come downstairs, Stevie? Or do you want me to bring them up?”

            Steve flipped over. Didn’t look like he was gonna accomplish much more.

            “Okay. One second. You want water? Or orange juice? Think you can drink a glass of that for me?”

            Steve nodded.

            Bucky was so happy Steve wasn’t unresponsive he almost slipped and fell down the stairs.

            On the way back up he started worrying again and had to tell that part of himself to quit it. “Alright, Steve. Here you go. I know you’re a frail old man, but you’re gonna have to feed yourself. I got errands to run, okay? Nothing outside the house, I’m not gonna leave you- just have things to do, alright? You okay if I go in the bathroom for a while?”

            “Can you leave the door open?”

            Steve looked so hopeful that Bucky said ‘yes.’

            They got through it. They always got through it.

            Bucky had a nightmare after. But he never had to explain those to Steve.

            Steve wasn’t demanding. That wasn’t it. Bucky had been around a lot of demanding people and Stevie wasn’t one of them, at least when it came to important stuff. But there was the obligation. The ring on his finger he told Steve he woulda put there at twelve if he could have. Sickness and in health. And Steve was sicker than Bucky was. So Bucky had to take care of Steve. Even though he could barely take care of himself.

            Not true. Bucky was doing well. He was pursuing hobbies. He had started researching dogs. He went outside almost every day. More than some people who weren’t as headfucked as he was. Not even, anymore. Bucky remembered things for days at a time, old things, sometimes got them back for good, kept remembering more. They didn’t fade as easily as they used to. Sometimes went in and out. But he always found the frequency again.

            So Steve was maybe the right amount of worried about him. Long as he didn’t worry too much on his own bad days.

            They were getting through it.

            They always had.

            Always would.

*

            Some things were easy. Slipped back like Bucky’d never stopped. Like the married to Steve thing. They’d been acting as married as they could get away with since they were teenagers. That was what came back right away. That and all that came with it; their behavior around each other. Careful but practiced, learning a new way to handle a well-worn thing. Everything else had changed. But that stayed. A holdover from all the times something had threatened to throw them off balance- a lost job, a family argument, a war. They always got through it. That was how Bucky had started thinking of them as married, he thought.

            That and Steve kept his promises. Or Bucky was gone on him since day one. Either way.

            Everything else changing around them, that was usual. Bucky was used to it. He’d gotten drafted, and everything changed for a while. Not being near Steve at all, just letters. Then, finally, Steve being back again. Both of them were different that time. It happened over and over again. Just more this time. More things he’d seen and more things Steve had. They were still something of themselves under all of it. The very underneath stayed the same. Bucky had been terrified for a split second when Steve came to get him, that first time, not the first time he’d saved Bucky but one of the most important ones; what if Steve wasn’t the same under all of that? But he was. Didn’t matter he was different. He was still Steve.

            And Bucky was still Bucky. Now, anyway. He’d had to learn how to be Bucky again, a little, learn how to be this Bucky. But he still was.

            Steve was very different. Bucky had expected that. With the underneath still being Steve. The century had shaped him in strange ways, chipped away some of the bright parts and sharpened others. Bucky couldn’t even imagine how different he seemed to Steve. But it gave them patience. Bucky had been so worried when he came back this time, worried Steve might not know him. But Steve understood. Bucky was still there.

            Every once in a while he forgot he was still there. That was a problem. Before living with Steve again, he’d have to pull himself out of it, remember somehow on his own. Steve helped; him being there reminded Bucky that he was really there, too. That this wasn’t some fever dream in a cryo tank, or the side-effects of the drugs they’d pumped into him on the table years before that. If Steve was real he must be too. If Steve was a person he was too.

            Bucky knew there was something a little unhinged about that. He also knew Steve sometimes looked at Bucky like he was the only thing anchoring him to the twenty-first century. Same as Bucky. It’s here, it’s now, we’re here, we’re now.

            Bucky figured that was okay, too. Partners like always. Word didn’t feel exactly right, didn’t carry enough weight, somehow, but he never could find a better one.

*

            Bruce thought he should go on the pills again.

            Bruce wasn’t an expert, apart from being one of the only people intimately aware of super soldier medicine tolerances, but Bucky didn’t disagree. Or at least he didn’t disagree with his psychiatrist. Who hadn’t disagreed with his therapist, who’d referred him. Even though all those SHIELD forms meant both of them knew Bucky couldn’t take regular medicine.

            That wasn’t exactly true. He could take some things, albeit in much higher doses and with much lower impact than normal. Still, though. She’d talked to Bruce about medicine before, helped clear the panic pills Bucky kept in case he woke up from a nightmare and wasn’t him so much he needed to sedate himself to protect Steve. Well. He guessed Steve would punch him out. But panic. If Bucky was losing it but lucid enough to take one. He didn’t get like that very much anymore. He learned to swerve away long before it happened, so there was never a question of danger.

            But he was in this place now. The one he knew from Bucharest, the one he knew from those days before the war when he still had Steve, even. Things were too good. He wasn’t doing enough. Bucky needed to be doing more than one endless basement renovation project and a growing pile of easily-abandoned hobbies. The days kept passing and things weren’t changing in noticeable ways anymore. He didn’t think it was a miracle when he woke up and saw Steve next to him. He did. Just not- that wasn’t the first thing he thought in the morning. And Bucky didn’t go on walks like he had at first, just to see New York and remember parts of it and fall in love with them all over again. He woke up and went to the basement and came back up and read while Steve went through sketchbooks and sketchbooks of paper, and-

            That was it. He needed a thing to do. Something that didn’t have a solid end date, like the basement, something that wouldn’t fail in the face of his attention span, like woodworking or paper folding or fucking jogging.

            Well. Maybe he should take something, again, too. Bucky had dropped those serotonin reuptake inhibitors a little early. Even for a super soldier.

            “Steve.”

            “Hm?” Steve was drawing him, like he always was when Bucky was sitting and reading.

            “I need a job.”

            Steve set down his sketchbook and looked confused. “You know that’s not necessary, Buck, and anyway, even if you wanted a job we still haven’t-”

            “No, not that. I need something to do. And I could get a fake ID if I had to, Stevie, I’m actually pretty good at convincing people to look the other way.”

            “Oh.” Steve didn’t pick up his pencil or stop looking thoughtful, which meant he knew Bucky was serious and was being serious, too. “What did you have in mind? I mean, I don’t know what you do in the basement, but if those carving tools are any indication, maybe you could-”

            “No. I did that ‘cause I wanted something to look right. The actual carving process is a pain in the ass.”

            Steve was studying him, then. “None of the other stuff you’ve tried has stuck, either, has it?”

            “Nope.” Bucky knew Steve knew he hadn’t had to ask, but Steve looked like he was winding up for something and Bucky wanted to hear it.

            Yep. Eyes lit up. “Let me make a call.”

            “As long as you don’t agree with Nat that I should go to cosmetology school.”

            Steve snorted. “Nah. This’ll be way better, I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky thinks abstractly about things but in general this is a very fluff-coated chapter. As always please message me if you need anything/specific warnings/etc. Bucky's brain is a lot blurrier than Steve's to narrate.

            “This is easier than I thought.”  Bucky was sitting on the counter of the yarn co-op, unexpectedly satisfied now that he had a decent couple inches of _something_ taking shape along the needles. He was just sitting there, yeah, but he was doing something. Making something.

            Jay didn’t even sound smug. “I told Steve you’d like knitting.”

            “He said I should try crocheting.” Bucky side-eyed Steve, who was leaning on the counter and drawing Bucky. Again. Probably hoped he’d end up sitting still long enough for Steve to draw him. It had worked.

            Steve didn’t look up from his sketch. “I was the one who called Jay! And, alright, I know nothing about the yarn-related arts, but you’re here, now, and you’ve got a whole mouse-sized scarf done already.”

            Jay shook their head. “I don’t think it’d fit a mouse. Not long enough. Or wide enough, I guess, since that’s the direction the stitches go.”

            “Could always make two and sew them together,” Bucky said.

            “See? Five minutes in and you’re already a professional.” Steve bent over the drawing again. His pencil was flying.

            “Think I’ll get as good as you are at that?”

            “I’m not good. I’m okay.”

            Jay snorted. “Tell that to the photographers who’re jealous of you. Come on, Steve. Your stuff’s better than pictures. More life in it.”

            “I tried to tell him that for twenty years and he never listened.”

            Jay looked impressed. Bucky was just happy he could look up from his fingers long enough to catch the expression. “Twenty years? You been together that long?”

            Steve smiled. “Technically it’s more like eighty. Or ninety, or something. I don’t know. Everything before 1932 is a blur.”

            “What happened in 1932?” Jay asked.

            “I finally confessed to Steve.”

            That got Steve looking up, shocked, pencil forgotten. “You remember that?”

            “’Course I do. You didn’t think I’d come back to you if I didn’t remember that, did you?”

            Steve blinked. Got himself out of it- the shock, or whatever other reaction he’d had that would be mildly insulting if Bucky’s brain wasn’t trashed. Kind of sad, actually. Seeing Steve shocked was wonderful. Almost never happened. “Doesn’t matter what you remember. I just… didn’t realize you had that much. I forget.”

            “Look who’s old now.”

            Steve snorted and let that one slide.

            Jay stopped tennis-match following them and said, “Damn. You two still aren’t married?”

            “We’re working on it,” Bucky said. “I’m dead, remember?”

            “Oh, that.”

            “Yes, that,” Steve said, finally going back to sketching.

*

            It wasn’t that Bucky wanted to keep being technically dead.

            Far from it. He’d like to get a drivers’ license. A legal passport, even if he wasn’t planning on using it anytime soon. A library card, for fuck’s sake. But Bucky had been through it. He didn’t want a fake identity; he wanted his identity.

            Without it it wouldn’t mean the same. Being with Steve. It was stupid, Bucky knew, or at least illogical. Didn’t mean he didn’t want it. To be with Steve as himself. To point back to those seventy or eighty or ninety years and say, look, it was always me and Steve. There was something important about that. And not just Bucky feeling like a coward if he didn’t offer that to people, that- that hope. Or not hope, necessarily, just- validation? Reassurance? I was gay in 1932 and look how far we’ve come and how far we’ve yet to go?

            It wasn’t just that. It was also being him. Bucky wanted to be _him_. He’d not been himself for so long he sometimes still forgot. That made owning his name more important.

            And his crimes. He didn’t really want to own those, knew a part of him couldn’t as long as he believed what he’d fought so hard to believe before going back to New York: that it hadn’t been him. That he’d been so deeply under the influence of Hydra that his actions could never be considered voluntary.

            Some people would think of them as voluntary anyway. Bucky was guessing none of them had been POWs.

            So there was that, too. He needed to claim the parts of himself that Hydra hadn’t been able to burn out, stand there and say, someone did those things but that’s not the man I am now.

            God. He hated how that sounded. Have to get Stark to help him rephrase. He’d already made him the arm. What were a few PR lessons?

            But Bucky couldn’t do a damned thing until he was ready for the shitstorm. Which he most certainly was not. Yet. So.

            “Onward,” he muttered under his breath.

            “What was that?” Steve looked up from his drawing. He’d been drawing Bucky reading, like he always did.

            Bucky hadn’t turned a page in minutes, but he had a feeling Steve hadn’t noticed. “I really want to marry you, you know?”

            Steve looked amused and fond- or maybe that was gone in love, Bucky sometimes had a hard time telling the difference- at once. “I know.”

            “Good.” Steve didn’t need to hear his inner-monologue; Bucky’d shared it enough with him already. All that was left was to keep going, until he really could marry Steve. Until he could handle the media nightmare they’d need to face before getting some peace for good.                                 

            “You gonna keep knitting?”

            “Of course I am. Gotta finish that scarf, you know? Not to mention Jay is convinced I can learn how to do it with one hand and one foot, which won’t be a problem.” Bucky laughed. Then, slower, “I think I just needed to make something.”

            Steve’s smile stayed soft. “I know the feeling. Speaking of which, what have you been doing in that basement?”

            Bucky groaned. He wasn’t sure if Steve was trying to milk him for information or get him to consider the renovation as a creative outlet, but either way, it wasn’t working. “Carving is not the same as making, Steve, not when I’m not sculpting tiny bears out of wood, or something-”

            “Okay, okay!” Steve usually knew some of what he was doing, based on the tools Bucky carried through the living room in broad daylight, but Steve didn’t know the details. “When is that place gonna be done, anyhow? No pressure, I just-”

            “Yeah, I know, just curious. And who even said I was letting you see it?”

            Steve looked sad for a split second.

            Bucky’s eye-roll gave him away. “Of course you can see it, there’s just a couple more weeks’ of work left. Three weeks tops.”

            “Okay.” Steve was itching to hear more, Bucky could tell, but Steve knew he was serious about the reinstalled caution tape.

            Steve was good like that. Bucky’d never say it, not that way, because he knew Steve’d deny it, but Steve had always been so good. Bucky had known. Always known. God, he was lucky for it. He was so lucky. Steve’d made his feelings clear enough before Bucky really had a chance to go out, but that didn’t mean Bucky didn’t know. What was out there. Who was out there. Not all bad, no, never, but- none so good as Steve. He’d never find anybody as good as Steve.

            It was respect, of course. That was always there. Deeper, with Steve. Understanding. No, trust- because even when he didn’t understand why Bucky was doing something he trusted Bucky had a good reason.

            Maybe one day he’d say this to Steve. Would never need to, he knew that for sure. Maybe in a few years. When they could finally get married. “You’re so good to me, Stevie. What’d I do to deserve you?”

            Steve met his eyes. “You fell off a train, Buck.”

            “Yeah.” Bucky looked back at his book, finally turned the page, “I guess I did.”

*

            Building out a basement from nothing was harder than it sounded.

            To be honest, Bucky had never thought it sounded especially hard. Steve had done all the important things- made sure the power and water were in the right spots and working, made sure everything was up to code and permitted properly. The rest was just drywall and paint, right? Furniture. Bucky could do furniture.

            The hardest part was getting the details right.

            He knew Steve wouldn’t mind, that it wouldn’t matter, especially since Bucky wasn’t trying to copy someplace exactly. Still. Everything was so _blurry_. Either that or he’d get a memory back and be sitting with it for an hour before he could move again. Steve didn’t really know about that. Well, he knew, just not the extent of it. Bucky had only done it a few times in his presence and wasn’t planning on seeing the look on Steve’s face when he came out of it again soon, not if he could help it.

            His therapist loved this shit. Said he was working through it marvelously, that it was an amazing way to process his memories. Bucky didn’t disagree.

            Still couldn’t get used to losing so much time and making no physical progress at all. Physical progress was all he had, once. His only unit of consistent measurement. Time meant nothing, feelings meant nothing- accomplishments. That was it. Solid goals. Then you get to sleep again even though it hurts. Even though it’s wrong.

            At first he’d tried not to remember those parts. But he knew he needed to. So sometimes he did.

            Never those around Steve. Steve only got to see the nice parts. Or what passed for nice when it came to James Buchanan Barnes’s head.

            “Come eat dinner.” Steve didn’t even need to yell.

            The kitchen was close; Bucky could always hear him. “Coming, doll!”

            When he got to the top of the stairs Steve was leaning around the side of the fridge grinning. “What’d you do that for?”

            “What?” Bucky skirted around him to get a glass.

            “Call me doll.”

            Bucky shrugged. “Just felt like it. Remember what I said about wasting time? Goes the same for opportunity, too, hon.”

            Steve raised his eyebrows. “You know that one sometimes sounds patronizing?”

            Bucky shrugged again. “Teach me some new ones, then.”

            Steve was smirking. “Set the table, sweetheart?”  
            “Sure thing. Doll.”

            After dinner they went for a walk. Bucky always made a joke about getting his retired buddy out of the house, but he really did mean it; as long as Bucky was spending too much time in the basement, Steve was spending too much time hovering nearby. Even though he knew Bucky didn’t need him and Bucky would have kicked him out for hours at a time if Steve even suggested it.

            “What kind of dog is that?” Steve asked almost every time they passed a dog.

            “I haven’t learned that many, Steve. I only know a few by sight.”

            “Yeah,” Steve said, “but what kind of dog is that?”

            Bucky sighed. “I don’t know. Looks like a border collie. Could be mixed with something. Those are pretty easy to spot. You sure you’re not just asking to annoy me?”

            Steve sounded offended. There was no way in hell he was even a little offended, because he had definitely been asking just to annoy Bucky. “Of course not. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

            “Conversation my ass. Oh, shit. I can do this to you.”

            Steve’s pace slowed. “What do you mean?”

            “I fucking mean- ugh, I should stop swearing, there are kids everywhere- I mean I can take you to some… I don’t know, architectural thing, like some stolen buildings in a history museum, and pretend you know all about architecture because you built a house.”

            Steve frowned. “That wouldn’t be fair.”

            “Exactly.”

            Steve leaned to knock Bucky off balance; he had his arm on, though, so it didn’t work so well.

            “I should take you on a date.”

            Steve stopped dead and stared at him. “What?”

            “I should take you on a date. You took me to dinner, what, three times? And we went bowling that one time.”

            “That was with Nat. Doesn’t count if it’s with Nat. And I thought- I don’t know-”

            “What, I don’t have any money? Joke’s on you, pal. Fury’s already giving me backpay.”

            Steve’s jaw dropped for three whole seconds. It was like Christmas, all the Steve surprise going on. “That’s not what I meant. And I didn’t know that. And yes. I mean. Yeah. We should go on another date.”

            “That I plan.”

            “Right. Of course.” Steve started walking again.

            “I should take you to an art museum.”

            Steve grabbed his hand. Same ones; he was on Bucky’s right. Even though Steve was bigger now. Same hands. “I love you.”

            “I love you, too, Stevie.” He’d have to make good on his promise. But what were a few hours watching Steve be amazed?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry im posting so late have two chapters in honor of yesterday being my birthday
> 
> WARNINGS for very non-graphic and vague discussion of sex and also Bucky freaking out a little bit but more of an existential crisis kinda way than a panic. he just decides something important for himself. also there's a flashback about him overhearing hatespeech but it is only referenced plus spoiler alert just gives him another opportunity to talk about how much he loves Steve

            They’d got their necking up to forty minutes at a time. Bucky liked the cuddling after. May as well have been sex for as much as they laid all over each other, hyperventilating or not.

            Bucky wasn’t really having that problem anymore. Mostly he just faked it for Steve, because he could tell Steve was frustrated and tying himself in knots about it and Bucky didn’t want that.

            “I feel fifteen again.”

            Bucky snorted. “Hell of a lot bigger than you were at fifteen. Stronger, too. You just carried me, what, three rooms?”

            “Didn’t even break a sweat,” Steve mumbled, smiling into the sofa cushion.

            Maybe Bucky should tell him. “I’m okay, you know.”  
            Steve turned, opened his eyes, narrowed, worried. “What do you mean?”

            Bucky sighed and leaned back so Steve could sit up. Bucky stayed in his lap. “With that, I mean. Sex. I mean I’m not- I’m not dropping my pants over here or anything, but I’m okay. Not doing it, I mean.”

            Steve looked confused. _Shit_. “Buck, I-”

            Swooping panic. Mmm. “Damnit. That’s not what I meant. I meant- whenever you want. Or never. If you never want more than kissing. I’d be alright.”

            Steve rubbed his back a little, soft. “I’m okay, too. With whatever you want.”

            Bucky felt his face scrunch up. “I’m trying to tell you you shouldn’t be doing anything for me. Or not doing anything for me.”

            Steve’s hand fisted in his shirt. “Hey. You know I would never-”

            Bucky shook his head. “No. It’s not that, Steve. I just wanted you to know. For later. If you ever- when you’re okay with that again. You just gotta talk to me about it.”

            “Yeah,” Steve said, pulling him close, “of course.” A second later, “You’re doing real good with that positive language, you know.”

            Bucky laughed. “What, correcting ‘if’ to ‘when’?”

            “You don’t have to do that for me.”

            “I wasn’t.”

            “Good.” Steve held him for a second. “You think the Avengers are taking bets on our sex life?”

            “Oh, yeah. No question. Clint’s probably got the most money down.”

            “On what?”

            “Steve Rogers, secretly never been kissed, I never confessed, you’ve been in love with me our whole lives? I don’t know. Something like that.”

            “Pretty sure they know I’m not a virgin.”

            “Do they, Steve? Or are they just humoring you?” Bucky bit his lip. “Sorry. That was rude.”

            “Nah. Make jokes about it. I’m not uncomfortable with my masculinity. I was Captain Fucking America for seventy years. What’s a few more without sex? Hell, no sex at all. Free country. No matter what I win.”

            “Purple library and all?”

            “You bet,” Steve laughed.

            “What’s your favorite color? Has it changed?” Bucky had an artist for a best guy and he hadn’t asked in seventy years.

            “Count of three we both say ours.”

            Bucky nodded confirmation against his chest.

            Steve counted. Then said, “blue” as Bucky said, “green.”

            Steve sounded like he shouldn’t be surprised but was a little anyway. “Green, huh?”

            “Life. Trees, grass, stuff like that. And it’s warm but not too warm.”

            “Stayed the same.”

            “Yes it did. So did yours. Why?”

            “Endless possibilities. The sky. Your eyes in the summer.”

            “Sap.”

            Steve snorted. “Right. Because I’m the one who brings marriage up every day-”

            “I don’t want you to forget.”

            Steve kissed his forehead. “M’not gonna forget.”

            “I know. But if I keep saying it you know I still mean it.”

            “You don’t need to, Buck. ‘Less you want to. In that case go ahead. I don’t mind.”

            “You know the other day I wanted to go on more pills again and I talked myself out of it?”

            “Good or bad?” No judgement. Just caution. No, concern.

            God. “S’good. ‘Cause it means I trust myself.”

            “That makes two of us.” Steve snorted. “Who trust you, I mean.”

            He’d been doing so good five seconds ago. “Stevie.”

            “No, I’m serious.” Steve tipped his chin to his chest so Bucky could really see him. Scritched at Bucky’s hair a little where Steve’s hand was in it. So he’d look. “You saw what that room was like before you got ahold of it.” Bucky felt a flood of relief. Steve smiled like he hadn’t felt the muscles unclench. “No inspiration at all. I wouldn’t have half as many Hawkeye paintings in this joint if it weren’t for you, and ask anybody, he’s got the classiest art-”

            “You talking about that mermaid one?” Bucky was smiling. Easy smile. Felt nice.

            “Yep. And Clint gets to see it every time he pisses upstairs.”

            “Not if he uses our bathroom.”

            Steve raised his eyebrows. “You wanna invite him over? Have a slumber party?”

            “I think he’d fit. We’ve never had a king bed before. And he’s kinda small. You know. Compared to super Steve and his cyborg sidekick.”

            “You are _not_ my sidekick.”

            “Because you’re retired.”

            “Yep. I’m retired. All I do is draw you all day.”

            Bucky recognized that look. “You wanna do it right now, don’t you?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Want to sit at opposite arms and lay our legs on top of each other so you can stare at me like a sap while I watch that island house hunting show Sam made me record?”

            Bucky was sneaking glances at Steve’s enraptured face the rest of the afternoon.

            It ended up being better than the art museum.

*

            Five minutes that morning laying in bed before he realized he was staticking out something awful.

            It wasn’t that bad. Okay. It was bad. But it wasn’t- Bucky didn’t want to put his fist through a wall. It was just so tangled. Everything was getting in the way of everything else.

            His turn for a bad day.

            No, don’t. Positive language.

            “…okay?”

            “M’fine. Just need to distract myself.” He didn’t really want to get up. But the thought of a distraction, something to pull his attention away from the impossibly twisted overlapping confusing loudness in his head- “I’m making breakfast.”

            He didn’t talk as he did it. Maybe would have been good to talk. But he didn’t want to lay all of that on Steve. It was Wednesday. Steve had enough shit to deal with without-

            “You can talk, you know.”

            Fucking mind reading fucking soul mate asshole. Bucky grunted in response.

            “I mean it. I know you’re always shutting up because you’re afraid I’ll- I don’t know, snap or relapse or something-” Bucky made an indignant sound but Steve kept talking, “-but I won’t. Not because of this. I’m strong enough, now.”

            “Went to therapy yesterday. This is just a shitty holdover.” Bucky never felt this bad the day after. Not lately, anyway. Wasn’t fair.

            “I’m going, today, Buck. So anything you wanna tell me can get worked right out in a few hours.”

            That one was hard to argue with. But what was he gonna do? Just talk? Just spew out a stream of thoughts until he ran out of them? Because that didn’t look like it was gonna happen anytime soon.

            Fuck. That was the last piece of bacon done. Steve wanted him to talk now.

            Even though he pretended otherwise. “You don’t have to. I just-”

            “No, fuck it, you’re right,” Bucky said, setting the plates on the kitchen table and sitting. They were in the damned serious conversation spot, anyway. “You want to hear it? Because I promised myself I wouldn’t hide from you and you’re telling me it’s okay now so I should just- I should just talk to you, shouldn’t I?”

            “If it helps.”

            Bucky sighed. He knew it would help. That’s why he still went to therapy so damned often. “Okay. I don’t know how to start.”

            “You haven’t ranted since before the war,” Steve said. “Guess you’re out of practice.”  
            Fuck. That’s right. Bucky had done this. With Steve. Before therapy was a thing people did. He’d come home and talk to Steve twenty minutes not stopping, and Steve would just listen to him. Like a goddamned angel. “Oh, fuck.” It was a memory. Maybe he could talk through it. “I’m remembering something.”

            “Yeah?”  
            “Yeah. It was when I heard- some guys were saying shit. Real bad. Talking about this couple that- shit, I don’t know. Like, some poor girl, doesn’t know she’s marryin’ one of _us_ \- maybe if they beat the shit outa him she’d think twice? Or maybe they could show her what a real man was like so she’d know the difference? Just terrible stuff. Just. Made me sick. I wanted to stop them.

            “But you told me not to. You’d fight anybody, but you were the one who taught me every fight isn’t worth it. Some of ‘em you gotta leave alone. And these guys were bigger than me, a couple years older, and I was just passing them in the street. Wouldn’t have had a chance. And then I’d come home to you with maybe a couple broken bones, and I might have to miss work- because I know you’d have marched down there yourself and explained the situation and made sure my boss knew I was defending some dame’s honor and someone who worked as hard as me should be able to take a day off without worryin’ about being fired- you woulda done anything for me. That’s why you told me not to fight. Even though you- hell, even I might not have been able to pull you away from that one. The things they were saying, Steve- I can’t even remember them. I just remember- it made me so sick.

            “I remember coming home and telling you that. And I couldn’t stop talking. I didn’t want to upset you, I was tryin’ not to say anything, but I stepped inside and saw you and I couldn’t- I was crying so hard by the end of it. Thought I’d make myself sick that way. And you’d still find an excuse to make sure I kept my job.” He cracked a smile at the end. Bucky was almost almost crying, the memory was so strong, how much it ached. There was so much, so much hatred in that moment he’d happened to overhear walking down the street. And he knew. He knew people talked that way all the time, heard it a couple times a day, even, he just- hearing it- hearing it had been too much, that day.

            Steve was still just listening.

            Bucky was back enough to think about it. If talking had helped. “Don’t know what that did. Saying it. Guess it was just good to say it because it reminded me- shit, everything I remember reminds me how good you are.”

            Steve reached out for Bucky’s hand across the table. “Funny. All my memories seem to do that, only it’s you who’s always good.”

            He could stare at Steve forever.

            He wanted to.

            He was going to.

            Oh, no. Bucky was doing the Steve thing. The self-fulfilling prophecy thing. Head static wasn’t enough, apparently. He had to go and decide that it was for a cause, that his head was feeling all awful because the day held something important and nerve-wracking and- how did Steve do this all the time? “I’m gonna do something stupid.”

            Steve squeezed his hand.

            “I’m gonna go to the tower today. I want to start working on the… the me. The press release. Or whatever it’s called.”

            Steve looked like he was being ripped in half. “Buck, you don’t have to-”

            “No. I’m tired, Steve. I’m cooped up in here all the time and even when I have things to do I can’t- I’m still afraid. Of what’ll happen on the off chance I get recognized in the street.”

            Steve was holding his hand so tight he would have fallen off the train, too. “You’re safe, Buck. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but we’ve got the city- Stark, the government, Nat, everyone- has the city on lockdown, at least from _them_. Someone so much as tweets about neo-Nazism and we’ve got their location.”

            Bucky smiled a little. “Isn’t that profiling?”

            “No such thing as reverse racism.”

            “Right. And I know, Steve, I know I’m safe, I just- it’s more than that, you know? Other shit to be worried about.”

            “Yeah.” Steve did know. The press was bad. Relentless, when it came to the Avengers. Bucky was pretty sure they’d had to cite national security laws to get them to back off more than once.

            Which made him wonder how bad it was going to be for him. “Always loved a challenge.” God. What an overstatement.

            But he was going to that tower. Today.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for Bucky being in generally a not-great state in response to what he did last chapter. If you're worried just skip past the first starry thing * section

            Wake up. Come on. Steve’s there.

            Sometimes he had to remind himself.

            Except it didn’t really help. So bad day.

            No. Fight it. I can’t fight it there’s nothing to fight it’s me it’s just me- “Steve?”

            “Mmm?”

            “Pills.”

            Steve sprung out of bed like he was electrocuted. Then, once Bucky’d downed them, “You okay?”

            “I just took the pills.”

            “Sorry. I mean… want me in here or out of here for a while?”

            “You can stay. Just the inside of my head. Too loud.” Bucky hadn’t been reading the news. Or watching it. Or checking the internet.

            Didn’t make this less of the worst part. The part where he really did have to stay locked in the house- because he was not dragging Steve out of their home for the tower, not when the place was crawling with photographers day and night. This was the part Bucky had been dreading. The one that he decided to attach to one day of bad feeling and just run with, because if Steve could make his own decisions about when he was going to have a bad time so could Bucky.

            No. That wasn’t right. Not even a little bit. Jesus. So loud up here. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make breakfast, kid. Probably burn myself or somethin’.”

            “That’s fine. You don’t have to do anything.”

            Bucky pulled a smile out of nowhere. He knew it wouldn’t convince Steve. “Wait on me hand and foot? Princess treatment?”

            “Oh, yeah. I’ll even go finish the basement for you if you want.”

            Bucky laughed. Harsh-sounding and empty, but it was something. “No way am I letting you down there when I’m this close to being done.”

            Steve broke out his best shit-eating grin. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

            “Yes I can.” Never blame Steve for anything damnit, Steve’s the best person you’ve ever known, and he has to deal with this, oh no oh god- no- he signed up for this remember, Steve has to do this too, you’re in this together stop feeling guilty about it- “Has it been ten minutes yet?”

            “Nope. Supposed to help if you eat something, right?”

            “I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. Don’t call Bruce, that was a joke.” It had been two days since the initial announcement, and the PR team was releasing measured amounts of information about all the people who’d died at his hands, these hands, or this right one at least, and thank god he didn’t have the old one because if he had he would have been trying to rip it off.

            “Come on.” Steve took his hand, gentle, and Bucky let himself be led. It was easier than deciding to do the walking himself.

            Downstairs Steve sat him at the table. Bucky was worried he’d let him think but Steve started talking right away. “What do you think about a team vacation? Tony mentioned it a while back, and it didn’t seem like a good time, but now that you’re almost done with the basement and you’re confirmed to be in the city it might be better to just…”

            “Not be in the city?”

            “Yeah. I don’t know. It’s whatever you want.”

            If they left he could go outside. “I don’t know, Steve. Wouldn’t they have to fake everything?”

            “Not if we went somewhere Fury’s got friends. Or somewhere Nat’s got friends. Or somewhere I’ve got friends.”

            “Where would that be?”

            “Wakanda.”

            Bucky laughed. “Don’t, ah- aren’t they busy right now?”

            “With what?”

            “You know. Revealing themselves to the world and everything.”

            “Oh. That.” Steve paused. “Thought you weren’t watching the news.”

            “It’s a highly advanced country in control of one of the most valuable resources on the planet. Been news for a while, sweetheart.”

            “Do sunshine and tech sound good for a vacation?”

            Bucky sighed. “Would we be safe there?”

            Steve turned around to meet his eyes. “Safer than anywhere else, I’d guess.”

  
            “Huh.” Bucky stared at the table as Steve went back to cooking their eggs. “Guess we could try it. Although this friend of yours would have to be high enough clearance to let a wanted criminal into the country.”

            “He’s the king. I’m talking about King T’Challah.”

            “Oh.” This whole thing was ringing bells- Bucky knew what Steve was talking about, somewhere- but at the moment the thought of escaping sounded so good it was eclipsing everything else. “Maybe we should go.”

*

            “What do you mean we can’t go?”

            Fury didn’t look surprised. More like he expected it and was being nice. Or as nice as the head of a formerly top secret intelligence agency could be. “I mean, with you being one of the most sought-after people in the country right now, and us trying to clear your name besides, it would be incredibly unwise for you to run.”

            Shit. Bucky knew he was grasping but tried it anyway. “It’s not running if I’m planning on coming back.”

            Fury shrugged. “Maybe. But that doesn’t make running look any less guilty.”

            Bucky sighed. Steve wasn’t even saying anything; not his show. He was just at this Bucky meeting because it concerned the vacation they couldn’t take. And also because the thought of stepping outside without Steve just then made Bucky hyperventilate. “Okay. So, we can’t take a vacation now. Fine. How long until this dies down?”

            Fury leaned forward, steepled his hands. “I’m not sure. We’re trying to put out the fire as quickly as possible, but it doesn’t help that we released the information over the span of three days.”

            “Yeah. Right.” All he could do not to drop out. Pull his attention. Since he wasn’t going to be hearing anything new.

            But then Fury’s expression changed. “I have some good news, though. If Steve’s okay with it.”

            There was only one thing that could be good news, apart from the reinstatement of Bucky’s identity, which he knew would take longer than a few days. In a second Bucky went from numb to excited, leaning forward to slap his hands decisively on the conference table. “Doesn’t matter if he’s okay with it. It’s happening.”

            “You can meet potential candidates here. I know this isn’t an ideal environment, but I don’t like the idea of you visiting anywhere unfamiliar at the moment.”

            Steve finally cracked. “What are we talking about?”

            Bucky swiveled his chair towards Steve and reached out to grab his shoulders. “I’m getting an emotional support dog!”

            “Oh.” Any trace of ‘I don’t want a dog’ was gone from Steve’s face in half a second. “We’ll have to get the house ready first.”

            God he was great. “Is Stark gonna set up one of the spare gyms like an adoption- wait, can’t I just go look for dogs?”

            “You could, but the contract you signed recommended a trained animal.”

            Steve sounded legitimately bothered by that one. “There were provisions in that stuff for support animals?”

            Bucky shrugged. He hadn’t showed Steve the contract because it was a very top secret special government document and Steve hadn’t known Bucky was signing anything the day he went in, but to be fair Steve had sent him with a lawyer. So he had to think there was a _possibility_ of something legal happening. Beyond Bucky asking not to be officially dead. “I trust your taste in lawyers. And it was a straightforward contract. Didn’t even need to translate.”

            Steve sighed. They were going to have to talk about this later. Bucky could tell because Steve had that look.

            He didn’t say anything else, though. Because later also meant sans-Fury.

            Kitchen table.

            “You signed highly sensitive paperwork when you- when you were having a bad day?”

            Total honesty was great. Definitely better than silent wartime crying. “I was fine. I mean, I wasn’t, I was terrible, but there really wasn’t anything in the paperwork except that SHIELD would begin the process of reinstating my identity and some recommendations for the PR fallout.”

            Steve didn’t look convinced. Which was fair. Bucky had been a mess lately. “That doesn’t mean- I’m not saying you have to do anything, but would you please take more than ten minutes to think about it next time?”

            Bucky crossed his arms. “It took at least thirty.”

            Steve sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Buck, I just-”

            “Don’t trust me not to make stupid decisions?”

            Steve looked like he didn’t want to agree but couldn’t disagree honestly.

            Ah, well. “I get it, Steve. Stand by our stupid decisions, right? Not like you haven’t made your fair share.”

            “No,” Steve said, leaning back in his chair finally relaxing finally. “Sure I’ve made worse decisions than you.”

            “Maybe once or twice.”

            Smiling. Good. “Still, please just- be careful, okay?”

            Bucky laughed. “I’m keeping you in retirement. Think I’d risk that by putting my dumbass on the line for something other than you?”

            “When’s our anniversary?”

            Warm. Steve made him so fucking warm. “Don’t know. Guess we have to pick one. When I’m an upstanding citizen and all.”

            “You have to admit I’ve made at least two good decisions.”

            Bucky raised his eyebrows and tipped onto the back chair legs. “What, this house and me? Yeah, I’d say two. Grand total of two intelligent choices in your life. Probably got me beat, if I’m being honest. All I got’s you.”

            Steve smiled in that playful way that was really kind of dirty.

            “No. I’m not counting that. Stamina be damned, you could have died in that experiment. No way, buddy. Be happy with the two. You’re not getting that stupid serum.”

            Steve’s smile widened. “Worth a try.”

            “Sure it was, pal. Ask in another seventy years. The answer’ll still be no.”

*

            It was done. The basement was done.

            Bucky had had little else to do while he and Steve were still cooped up in the house. Captain America may be retired- or in limbo until someone else picked up the shield- but that didn’t mean Steve lived a PR free life. Even when Steve was staying inside with Bucky staying inside, he still had to go out occasionally. And occasionally included an entire day of press conferences about Steve’s official stance on James Buchanan Barnes. He promised to leave out the engaged part, because if he didn’t the whole PR floor at the tower would kill him. But Steve had to say something. And something wasn’t good enough for the public, they’d need a whole day of Steve talking and smiling and getting flashed in the face.

            So Bucky was alone. In a way he hadn’t been often lately since Steve wasn’t working, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the basement was done.

            Well. Mostly done. He still had a few finishing touches. But it was nothing that’d make or break the reaction he hoped Steve would have.

            The real problem with the basement being done and Steve being gone at the same time was that Bucky didn’t feel safe leaving the house, especially when he knew Steve was going to have a hell of a time making it home undetected. So he was just alone. Sitting in a giant flashback with nothing but his thoughts.

            But that wasn’t really bad, right? It was just his head. He was used to his head. Woke up with it still screwed on every morning and somehow made it to bed alright. So Bucky’d be okay.

            Logically he knew that.

            But god this room reminded him of the war.

            Bucky let himself remember.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't think any warnings apply except a li'l bit of sadness and some SPOILER ALERT glossed over sexytimes
> 
> one take

            “What are you thinking about?”

            Bucky looked up from his drink. “A beautiful lady.”

            Steve shoved him. He did that a lot. Better joke when they were surrounded by soldiers.

            Later he reminded Steve.

            They were laying there in their secret room they’d got who knew how and he said, “Remember the first time I came home drunk?”

            Steve laughed. “Which one?”

            Bucky hit his heel against Steve’s shin. They only got this close when there was something to shove up against the door. That or they were wearing clothes, but they didn’t have that excuse. “The first one after we moved in together.”

            “Oh, that one.” Steve ran his hand up Bucky’s ribs. Made him shiver. In a good way. “I remember. You only bring it up every single time we’re off the lines for ten seconds.”

            “Shut up. I like hearing the story.” Bucky always heard it because he liked the way Steve told it. Also he was too drunk to remember much else from that night, even if this part was branded into his brain.

            “Okay.” Steve linked his arms across Bucky’s chest and leaned into his ear. “You came home about one in the morning, banging down the door because you couldn’t find your keys.”

            Talking right in Bucky’s ear. Steve was gonna be the death of him.

            “I open it, you fall inside, and I- you said close the door, so I closed it, I just thought it was drafty or something, but you had other ideas-”

            “Oh did I.”

            Steve laughed. “That was the drunkest I’ve ever seen you. I’m not sure how you made it home without breaking a limb.”

            “My cousin kept giving me absinthe.”

            “Eugh. You smelled like a bar, by the way, and not the nice kind. I mean the kind that tops off with rubbing alcohol.”

            “Bars don’t do that.”

            “Mmm, how do you know? I thought you were ‘going out to dinner,’ not going out to get-”

            “Steeevie. Finish the story.”

            “Okay. You’re drunk. You make it to the sofa. Standing, because this is important, but you’re leaning on it pretty hard. You made me come all the way over there- which I was doin’ anyway, in case you collapsed- and grabbed my shoulders and said, Steve, this is real important. I want you to know something.”

            The next part was Bucky’s favorite.

            He made Steve tell the story so often because of the way Steve sounded when he said it. Like Bucky was out of his mind but Steve loved him anyway. Like Steve had never met a more ridiculous person in the world and maybe that was wonderful. “Every time I say I’m thinking of a pretty dame, I’m thinking of you. Not any other boys. That’s important. S’just you, Steve Rogers. You’re the only one for me.

            “And then you passed out, nearly gave me a concussion fallin’ on me-”

            When Steve came down to the basement to find him Bucky was crying.

            “Buck? You okay?” He approached slowly. Didn’t want to startle him.

            “Yeah.” Bucky wiped his eyes and smiled. “Yeah. Just thinkin’ of a pretty dame.”

            Good minute of Steve beaming at him before Bucky realized Steve was in the basement. “Oh, shit. You’re in the basement.”

            “I’m sorry.” Steve frowned, took a step back. “I can go upstairs. You weren’t answering and I thought- I wasn’t really paying attention, I can close my eyes right now and-”

            “No.” Bucky stood and took his hand. Squeezed. “Wasn’t waitin’ on much to show you, anyway. What do you think?”

            Steve moved his eyes away from Bucky, finally, and looked around.

            They were off to one side, still near the sofa, and from that vantage it was easy to take in the whole room. Wooden floors, as good as Bucky could lay them over concrete. A bar stretched across half the back of the room, vines painstakingly carved along all the edges. Behind the bar the shelves went to the ceiling, mirror in the middle reflecting the wide open space that counted as a dance floor as long as Steve would let it. There were two couches and plenty of chairs in one corner, the kinda space that the best bars had but the dance halls never did. He’d put the tables and chairs off to the other side of the room, enough to have a party but not enough to crowd the place. Bucky brought in the oldest-looking lights he could find, modernized remakes of the ones they knew. But the thing he’d worked hardest on, the thing that had taken the most time, was the pictures. Years and years of them lining the walls. All the frames made or found, pictures pulled up from the photo albums of families who were too young to know them.

            Steve went up to those first, reaching out to touch the glass on one of the few pictures Bucky had found of Steve’s Ma. “Where’d you get these?”

            “Found them. Tracked them down. Didn’t find many of us, but there was everybody else. During the time we knew them and after.” Bucky’s family crowded into the frame to christen the camera his sister had bought in ’56. A Howlies Thanksgiving reunion, snapped in a moment when they were all blurry from laughing.

            “Buck…” Steve reached back, found his hand, couldn’t pull his eyes away from the wall. He was crying.

            “I know, baby. I know. It’s a lot. S’why I put it down here. Thought maybe we could take a few up. Had to have them in the house. But I didn’t want it to hurt all the time.”

            “It doesn’t.” Steve turned to face him, tears going strong. “It can’t. You gave us a gift, Buck. This is a gift. A part of all the things we missed.”

            “Still got these even though we missed them.”

            “Yeah.” Steve laughed, sniffled. “How’d you get that bar down here?”

            “Called in a favor. Borrowed a shrinking… thing.”

            Steve shook his head a little. “God, Buck. All of this… I mean- when?”

            “When you were out. All the art classes. All the times I wouldn’t tell you where I was going and came back with pictures stuck in books so you wouldn’t see ‘em.”

            Steve laughed again, a little of the sadness draining out for wonder, and dragged Bucky over to the bar. “And you did this? All of it?”

            “Didn’t feel right having something so important I didn’t make myself. You made this house, Stevie. All that other stuff I found, but this… it had to be ours. I couldn’t take it from somewhere, or we- the history isn’t _ours_ , Stevie. I wanted it to be ours. No one else’s.”

            Steve ran his free hand over the shiny smooth top, glanced up to catch their reflections in the mirror. Met Bucky’s eyes in it.

            “You know, we have four bathrooms now. Did this one with old tile and everything.”

            “Yeah?” This time Steve let himself be dragged to the other back corner, the one Bucky’d framed out with a big bathroom like the one upstairs, as modern for the thirties as he could manage, and next to it a storage room waiting to be filled with essentials. Steve stared at the empty shelves. “You made us a panic room, didn’t you? A giant panic room that looks like a Depression-era movie set.”

            “Doesn’t make sense the only safe place your friends have is the one everybody always knows they’ll be.”

            Steve looked at him. “Is it safe from atomic bombs, too?”

            Bucky shook his head. “Not unless your concrete’s strong enough to keep out the radiation.”

            “I don’t know.” Steve led them back into the main room and gave it another once-over. Then he turned back to Bucky, smirking. “Is this your way of trying to get me to dance?”

            “Gotta teach you sometime before the wedding.”

            Steve laughed and pulled him out onto the floor, pulled him in close.

            “We’ve got no music,” Bucky said. “Haven’t gotten it yet.”

            “Doesn’t matter,” Steve said. “I’m as bad a dancer with it as I am without it.”

            At first it was just swaying. Bucky had a feeling they were both trying to stop crying and not having much success, because at least on his end how could he not feel too much when Steve was looking at him like that? So Bucky tried something else, picked up the pace a little. Got Steve laughing for as many times as he tripped. And then he fell into Bucky, and-

            “Jesus.” Bucky couldn’t breathe. They hadn’t kissed like that in years. Not since- not since they thought they were dying. “You okay, Stevie?”

            “I’m great,” Steve said, and kissed him again, and again, and then Steve just lifted him off the ground, hands on his ass taking away Bucky’s remaining oxygen and forcing him to pull away again.

            “Jesus, Stevie.”

            Steve set him down. “You good?”

            “I’m so good.”

            Steve kissed him for about thirty more seconds and then pulled back. Knowing look in his eye. He knew Bucky wanted this. Knew him so fucking well. “Let me do this for you?” And the way Steve said it, god, he had to have known. Known Bucky had wanted him for weeks and he was just waiting for the right moment.

            But Steve didn’t- that was the thing. Steve wasn’t trying to get off, here. He just wanted to do this for Bucky.

            Bucky took a deep breath. “Okay.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. But don’t- talk to me. I want you to talk to me. I think that’ll keep me- I think I need you to do that.” Bucky’s hands were locked behind Steve’s neck, hanging on and glad Steve was hanging onto him because he didn’t think he’d have been able to stand on his own just then.

            “Okay.” Steve said. “I can keep kissing you, though?”

            “Oh, yes,” Bucky laughed. “Please do that. But, um, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to support my-” Bucky cut off in another laugh as Steve picked him up. “I’ll never get over that.”

            Steve hummed and kissed his neck, set him down on the sofa. Kept kissing him. Saying things in between like, “missed you so fucking much, I love you, you know that, you’ve always known, God, you’re just so-” and then kissing him again. And then it was just Steve’s voice in his ear, Steve’s hands on his bare skin, and for the first time in years he felt the good kind of overwhelmed.

Just the good kind.

            In his grogginess, Bucky felt Steve slide a hand around his back and lift him, supporting all of Bucky’s weight as he rolled them over. So Steve was lying under Bucky.

            “You’re so sweet,” Bucky said into his ear.

            Steve laughed. “Hardly think it was that good of a hand job.”

            “No,” Bucky said. “Moving me. The things you said. You- God, Steve. You’re the sweetest person, you know that?”

            “Thought you might want to take the arm off. If we’re napping.”

            “So sweet. Just for a minute. Not worth taking it off. Still gotta show you the security features.”

            “More, huh?” Steve was rubbing his back, slow, warm, pulling Bucky closer to sleep.

            “Yeah. I know you wouldn’t like it, but I wanted to make it a real bunker. You know, for your friends.”

            Steve shook his head and laughed. “And you say I’m the good one.”

            Bucky smiled and laid there another second before something occurred to him. “Please don’t tell me you cleaned your hand on my new sofa.”

            “Nope. Wiped it on your shirt.”

            “That explains the back rub. Jerk.”

            “You can wear mine if you get cold. Have a nice show all the way back upstairs to get a new one.”

            “You keep extras in the downstairs bathroom. Won’t be much of a show. And what makes you think I’m gonna let go long enough for you to take that one off, let alone put on a new one?”

            “You have a point.” Steve’s voice changed. He was looking at the room, Bucky could tell. “If not for the windows I’d spend too much time down here.”

            Bucky halfheartedly punched him in the arm, not opening his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let you. We’re in the future, remember? We have to embrace the present.” His voice cracked. Bucky hadn’t expected to feel so- so much. Saying that.

            Steve held him tighter.

            Bucky was crying again. “It was a nice dream, wasn’t it?”

            “Yeah, Buck. It’s beautiful.”

            And he curled into Steve’s chest, the way Steve had done once when he was little, and Steve just held him there, safe, and they both understood.


	6. Chapter 6

            Sometimes Bucky remembered her face better than his own mother’s.

            That was the only time Steve had needed him that much. Not- not that Steve didn’t need him, in other ways. But Steve was strong. Without Bucky there he wasn’t gonna fall apart. Not like how Bucky’d needed him those first few days after Azzano. Nothing like that.

            Only the day his mother died. The day Bucky had forced back his own shock and grief because if he didn’t Steve would go to pieces.

            “You’re all I have, Buck, you know that?”

            The day of the funeral Bucky thought the same thing back to Steve.

            Steve was all he had. Bucky had his family, sure, he had a handful of friends, but no one knew him the way Steve knew him. Inside out. Like he could hear a story that had happened before they’d met, something from when they were little, and know which kid was Bucky without the names. Like he wanted Steve to be there waiting if something ever happened to him. Right by his side.

            Only later did that thought change from ‘god forbid anyone I love dies’ to ‘I want Steve to have my dogtags.’ No one else knew every bit of him. No one else could hear his laugh halfway across the room and smile Buck that was only once sure it was kid smile because Bucky was laughing.

            That was a good story. One of the times they went to a queer bar.

            “His face lit up like a Christmas tree.”

            Steve was red. “It did no-”

            “That’s my guy, alright,” Bucky said, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “A good for nothing sap!” And he and Steve had argued about it the whole way home.

            And now he didn’t have to miss him anymore.

            “Jesus.”

            “What? Something wrong.”

            What’d I do to deserve you? You fell off a train, Buck. “No. Just remembering something.” He didn’t say what because even if Bucky had wanted to risk making Steve sad at eight in the morning, it wasn’t total honesty to say it was just that memory. They blended together, especially when he was about to fall asleep or just waking up. One after the other, no clear lines between them. Sometimes just full overlapping. “My guy’s a real sap.”

            “Oh, I’m the sap, huh? I didn’t make an entire basement for you-”

            “You made me a house.”

            That cut him off pretty quick. Then he said, “Made us a house.”

            “Wouldn’t want to take your credit.” And then, in his head, because Bucky wouldn’t risk saying that either, you didn’t know I was coming back. Steve made the house for both of them, maybe, but he’d had to make it for himself. For Steve. Because Steve hadn’t known he was coming back.

            Steve guessed he was thinking it. Or maybe knew. Hardly ever wrong by then. “I knew you were coming back.”  
            Bucky said nothing.

            “Even if you didn’t, I did.”

            “Okay, champ.” Bucky yawned. “Keep putting more trust in me than I put in myself.”

            “Only fair. You do it to me.”

            “I guess I do.” Bucky paused. “Though I was hoping it was gonna even out soon. Regain our old swagger, you know?”

            Steve laughed. Then, “Oh, shit. We’re supposed to have breakfast with Clint.”

            “It’s Saturday.”

            “I know.”

            “I mean, doesn’t he sleep in on Saturdays?”

            Bucky felt Steve shrug next to him. “Maybe? He’s the one who asked.”

            “Did he give you a time?”

            “Think he said eleven.”

            Bucky sighed. “You can’t wait to eat ‘til then, and neither can I.”

            “So?” Steve said. “We can just have something small now and then- what are you-?”

            Bucky was reaching over him, taking the phone off Steve’s nightstand, and calling Clint.

            “He’s not gonna be awake.”

            Bucky snorted.

            Clint didn’t even sound like he’d been woken up by the call. He sounded like he was _still asleep._ “Hello?”

            “Steve’s hungry now.”

            Some awakeness made it into Clint’s voice. “Are you fucking kidding me, Barnes? It’s Saturday.”

            “I know. But Steve’s hungry now.”

            Clint sighed. “Can you give him some toast and wake me again in an hour?”

            “I guess.”

            Clint immediately hung up.

            “Well?” Steve said. “Was he asleep?”

            Bucky rolled his eyes. “I know you heard that whole conversation. I’m six inches away.”

            Steve fluttered his eyelashes. “Make me some toast, honey?”

            “You’re unbelievable,” Bucky said, shoving Steve hard in the shoulder, but he got out of bed anyway.

            Bucky was dialing Steve’s phone again, this time at 8:59, when there was a knock at the door. He answered it. “You fucking asshole.”

            “In the flesh,” Clint said. “I brought flowers.”

            “Thank you?” Bucky accepted the brightly-colored bouquet and stood back to let Clint in.

            “First lesson of manners, Barnes: Never show up anywhere empty-handed.”

            “You could have brought orange juice or something,” Bucky said, following Clint into the kitchen.

            “I have it on good authority you guys go grocery shopping twice a day. I didn’t want to bring something I knew you had already.”

            “You coulda brought something not breakfast-related,” Steve suggested. He was already mixing pancakes. “Coulda brought dessert. Or another one of those pictures.”

            Clint leaned against the counter. “What, the ones of Tony in various art styles? I thought three was enough for you guys.”

            “Yeah, but those are all in Nat’s room. The hallways need a little flair.” Bucky leaned next to Clint, watching Steve pour pancakes. “And how do you know our credit card history?”

            “Those are SHIELD issued debit cards. Or at least yours is. Not really sure where all of Steve’s money comes from.”

            “Not SHIELD issued for long,” Bucky said. “I figure I’ll be a real person again in, what, a week? Two tops?”

            “Three if they make you do a public trial. But I don’t think they’ll make you do a public trial.”

            Steve turned. “He’s not doing a public trial.”

            Bucky batted his eyelashes. “What if I want one, baby?”

            Steve smiled and went back to the pancakes.

            Clint made a little noise of disbelief and changed the subject. Or kind of did. Still crap he shouldn’t have known. “When are you gettin’ the dog?”

            “Tomorrow, probably. It was gonna be next week, but Fury thinks it’s safer for me to go over there on a Sunday.” Bucky decided not to ask how Clint knew all this stuff that was supposed to be confidential. Probably wouldn’t get a straight answer, anyway.

            Clint nodded. “Know what kind it’s gonna be yet?”

            Bucky shrugged. “Trained for something. Maybe a retired police dog? I don’t know. I didn’t think anxiety dogs got that much training.”

            “Depends,” Clint said, accepting the first round of pancakes from Steve and dumping syrup on them. “I mean, I’ve had two therapy dogs with no training at all, but I’m kind of a hack.”

            Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we know. Nobody’s supposed to know I’m getting a dog.”

            “Nat thinks you should get a bird. Or a lizard, or something.”

            “A lizard?” Bucky asked, stepping around the island to find something to put the flowers in. He wasn’t sure they owned a vase.

            “Yeah. You can put them in your pocket if they’re small enough. Don’t have to go giving people warning looks about distracting your dog all the time. Plus, you know, it’s fun to pull a lizard out of your pocket midway through a conversation-”

            “Clint?” Steve asked, still facing the stove.

            “Yeah?”

            “Do you have a lizard in your pocket right now?”

            “I’m afraid you gentlemen are not authorized to know at this time.”

            Bucky turned from the sink, cut flowers in one hand, the biggest glass they had in the other, and found Clint smiling around a mouthful of pancakes. “Why did we invite you over?”

            “Because you love me.”

            Bucky snorted and went to claim the next batch of pancakes.

*

            Bucky was not going to take a dog home until he knew more about dogs.

            Although that meant he had to go on the internet, Bucky’s compartmentalization skills were enough to avoid looking at the news. Straight to the dog websites; no clicking on headlines of any kind, especially ones with his or Steve’s name or Captain America or Avengers or SHIELD anywhere in the title.

            He knew a little bit about different breeds and where they came from, but Bucky had no idea what the practical implications of a dog were. Apart from the stuff that was the same in every decade and with every animal- food, water, shelter, etc.

            Except twenty minutes into his research Bucky was just clicking through YouTube suggestions of dogs doing cute things.

            “Damnit!” He went back to the pet guide website and looked at the clock. He was going to have a dog in potentially less than twenty-four hours and he didn’t even know what foods were poisonous to dogs apart from chocolate and damnit they needed to go to the store. “Steve!”

            “M’here!” Steve appeared in the doorway immediately.

            “We need to get dog stuff! Before we get the dog!”

            “Oh.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck and his expression went from alert to thoughtful. “Well, you’re meeting some dogs tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean we have to bring-”

            “Steve.”

            Steve sighed. “I’ll go get some socks.”

            “Get me some, too!”

            Twenty minutes later they were standing in some cutesy pet store staring at giant bags of food with names that sounded fancier than anything Bucky had ever eaten.

            Steve stood on his toes to get an angle on the shiny bags on the top shelf. Finally, a place with shelves tall enough Steve had to stretch. “Oceanic medley? Really?”

            “I’m guessin’ that one has fish in it.”

            Steve snorted. “Right.”

            Bucky turned around and made for a better aisle. “We’re picking a bed first.”  
            “Good idea. Though those might not be much better.”

            Bucky raised his eyebrows. “You picked the pet store.”

            “Only the best for my baby’s baby.”

            Bucky sighed and took in the selection of beds. “Well? What do you think? It’s gonna be big, right? Any of these look good to you?”

            Steve shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter as long as the dog likes it. What do you think a dog would like?”

            “All of these look pretty nice.” Bucky crouched down to read about the features on one of them and tried not to flinch at the price. “Which one looks the best?”

            “This wasn’t my idea.” Steve was smiling. Hands in his pockets, like there wasn’t about to be a dog in his house.

            Bucky tried to get the point across. “You’re the boss of the house, Steve.”

            Steve stared at him with naked confusion.

            “I mean it. I’ve got, like, two rooms, half the bed, and seventy-five percent of the DVR. The rest is all you.”

            Steve crouched down to be level with him. “Bucky, we own sixty-one candles. Do you know how many candles I had before you moved in?”  
            No way in hell could Bucky remember that. “Twelve?”

            “Two. Two candles. And they were in both the guest bathrooms because Clint suggested them. For ambiance. And because apparently those work better than the fan in case somebody vomits.”

            Bucky laughed. “They haven’t gotten that smashed since I’ve known any of them, Steve. I hardly think they’d do it in your house.”

            “That’s not the point.”

            Bucky rubbed his eyes. “What is the point? I kinda lost track a while ago.”

            Steve sighed. “The point is, it’s not just my house. If it was, we wouldn’t have sixty-one candles.”

            “Okay.”

            “And we’re getting a dog, or you’re getting a dog, so I’m kind of getting a dog because I live with you. And if you want to start nesting in anticipation of this dog, I’m not gonna stop you.”

            Bucky blinked. “Did you just call buying a dog bed _nesting_?”

            Steve’s expression was poorly-concealed amusement. “You’ve nursed three stray kittens back to health, babe.”

            “Yeah, so? Am I a sap?”

            The amusement cracked a little. Ah, yes. Because Steve loved him because he was a clueless idiot. Right. “Maybe. I just meant you have real good parental instincts. Which I have noticed multiple times because you brought injured animals back to our apartment.”

            Bucky stood back up as images of kittens flashed before his eyes. Jesus. “Alright. Well, you’ve said I have no taste in anything but men about fifteen times just this week, so I still think you should pick out the bed.”

            They bought so much it was hard even for two super soldiers- one with a metal arm- to carry it all back to the apartment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's late but I am done and will be updating every weekend

            “Why do you keep drawing me?” They were eating breakfast before going to meet the dogs. Or Bucky was eating breakfast.

            Steve was drawing. “You’re the easiest thing to draw. Know you by heart.”

            “Isn’t that cheating?”

            “Not really. Not when I’m drawing from memory half the time.”

            “You _do_ stare at me less than you used to.”

            Steve smiled. “Shame. We wear less clothes in the twenty-first century. Guess I’m taking it for granted.”

            “And yet you didn’t let me buy that tank top last Thursday-”

            “Oh my god.” Steve rubbed his eyes. “That’s because it was three-hundred and twenty-one dollars, Buck.”

            “See, it’s times like this I feel the need to remind you I’m the gay one, Steve. You can accept tight shirts as gifts all you want, but at the end of the day, the burden of fashion falls on me.”

            “You’ve been wearing t-shirts and jeans, or _sweats_ , since you got back! You haven’t even bought a real coat yet.”

            “I’m not cold. And I got you to keep me warm if I get cold.”

            “Yesterday you made me pick out the dog bed because you, and I quote, never had any taste in anything but men.”

            “I said you said that. I didn’t say that’s what I thought.”

            Steve sighed and put down his pencil. “When are we meeting Fury?”  
            “Fury’s not even gonna be there. It’s just me and the dogs. And you, and some trainers or owners or something, but I’ve been told that the me and the dogs part is the most important so screw all that other stuff.”

            Steve nodded. “Alright. What time, though?”

            Bucky shrugged, glanced at the only wall clock in the house, which was in the hallway. “I don’t know. Thought we could leave in ten minutes or something. They’re sending a car. We just have to text them when we want to get picked up. Though I guess that means we should text now…” Bucky was halfway through typing when he realized something important. “Wait a minute. You’re not eating.”

            “So?”

            “So you didn’t eat, Steve.”

            “Oh. No. I did.”

            Bucky sighed and fired off the text. “When?”

            “You know how I was drawing you this morning?”

            “Yep.” They’d started sleeping with no shirts on. Which Steve had not really taken for granted because he’d been drawing Bucky in his sleep but whatever.

            “I ate before that. Had a coupla pop tarts, some fruit, two or three eggs…”

            Bucky sighed again. It was great he was sleeping through the night more. He just wished Steve would still be asleep when he woke up. “You sure you’re gettin’ your eight hours?”

            “Positive. Took a nap yesterday anyway. M’fine.”

            Bucky stared.

            “I figure it won’t matter that I didn’t sleep well because I can just take a nap today while you’re hanging out with the dog.”

            “That’s why you didn’t sleep well, isn’t it?” Of course it was. Bucky felt stupid not to have realized in advance.

            Steve shook his head. “You can’t stop all the bad nights before they happen, Buck.”

            “Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try.”

*

            As promised, it was all about Bucky and the dogs.

            His therapist was there, because she’d recommended a support animal in her brief, release-form-only-information discussion with SHIELD. She’d explained the difference between an emotional support dog and a trained service animal, and Bucky’d had enough time to decide that, yes, okay, a trained service animal would be a better idea because a) he could actually take the dog places that animals were not otherwise allowed and b) the PR implications were a lot more tolerable and also c) Bucky felt like a dog trained to calm him down would be second only to Steve, who, for various reasons, was not with Bucky all the time.

            But that was details. All of it melted when he stepped in the room; it was just Bucky and the dogs.

            Or one dog. He knew immediately. Second he made eye contact with her. Only reason he stayed in there talking to them and learning about them from their trainers was because he’d have felt bad if the other dogs didn’t feel like they at least had a chance.

            She hadn’t come up to him right away. The best ones never did, he thought with a smile; Steve hadn’t. It’d been the other way around. Always spotting Bucky from across the room and waiting for him to wander over. This dog was the same, recognizing that he was the reason they were here, but waiting for Bucky to come to her.

            And that was what Bucky needed. If he had a problem. Because he could spot them, now. He could almost always see it, when he wasn’t having a good day, or when things were about to go wrong. He’d never even been out for it; every time he felt awful he started home or gave Steve a look that said they needed to go home, and by the time it really hit they were there.

            That’s all he needed. A dog to keep him safe. Get him to a safe place, get him back to the house in one piece and without losing his temper and forgetting and-

            “Her name’s Rosie. Four years old. Worked with a few other people before, but now she’s ready to settle down. Didn’t really work out with any of the others. She’s got a more… hands-off approach.”

            “What breed is she?” Bucky had crouched down to make better eye contact with her, and after a quick sniff Rosie was accepting some pets on the head.

            “Collie golden mix. Goldens are a popular breed, but collies can be good with anxiety.”

            Rosie gazed at him calmly, sizing him up while he did the same to her. She was big, bigger than most of the goldens Bucky had seen. Long body. Regal. Carried herself like a queen. Faint white up the middle of her face, mix of tan and gold over each eye. Few little patches of white. And longer hair than a golden; she’d be a shedder for sure.

            Bucky glanced up at her trainer. “So she’s a long-haired collie mix? Like the big ones?”

            “Yessir. Border collies are usually a bit smaller, and shelties are of course tiny. Mom was tall, too. And smart. Couple other service dogs in her family.”

            “Huh.” Bucky collapsed into sitting position, legs crossed; Rosie gracefully traded her formal stance to sit across from him.

            “She likes you,” the trainer said, smile audible.

            “I like her,” Bucky said.

            “Think she’s the one?” His therapist had come over.

            Bucky nodded. “If she’ll have me.”

            “Great.” As the other trainers got the message and drifted out of the room, Rosie’s trainer gave Bucky a breakdown. Though Rosie was already trained, she would have to work with Bucky for a few weeks before she was fully certified to be a service dog for him. Something about extenuating circumstances and government clearance and speeding him through the process before he was ready to start going outside again. Bucky smiled and nodded through most of it; he was sort of falling in love with Rosie and figured he’d need to get a rundown later anyway. “… and once we give you the okay, you’ll be able to take her home.”

            Bucky’s head snapped up. “What?”

            “We need to make sure you know how to communicate with each other before we let the two of you go wreaking havoc on New York,” his therapist said helpfully.

            The trainer looked a little alarmed by the word choice. “Yes, well, that’s the gist of it. We aren’t going to put you through any obstacle courses, but we do want you to get to know each other before we-”

            “Find a dog?” Steve had come over. “Sorry,” he added to the trainer.

            God. He’d known the look on Bucky’s face and come over to help. Stupid Steve. “Her name’s Rosie. You’ve got competition.”  
            “I kinda figured.” Steve turned to Bucky’s therapist. “We all good here?”

            The trainer answered. “Not exactly.”

            Bucky’s therapist sighed. “They need to do some training together before she goes home with him.”

            “Ah,” Steve said. “How long’s the training?”

            “Could take two, maybe three-”

            Therapist’s turn to interrupt. “Director Fury told me we could get it done in a few days.”

            “Great,” Steve said. “What are the protocols for that?”

            They explained the protocols to Steve. Bucky didn’t help because he and Rosie were exchanging commentary through a series of exasperated looks.

            Steve was using his concerned Captain voice. “So we really can’t bring her home right away? Even if they’re back first thing tomorrow morning for training?”

            “That’s really not the best option in this situation,” the trainer insisted.

            Bucky’s therapist seemed to disagree. She looked like she wanted to argue, but Bucky shot her a look not to worry about it. “Okay,” he said, standing. “Come on, Steve. I’m sure they’ll let me know when I’m supposed to be in tomorrow.”

            Took Steve a second to catch on, but then he was grinning. “Sure. Thanks for all your help. I’ll let them know we’re ready to go.”

            They made it about ten steps before the sound of trimmed nails on gym flooring started to follow.

            “Rosie!” The trainer sounded displeased. “Where do you think you’re-?”

            Bucky spun around to find Rosie standing looking up at him. Then she looked back at the trainer. Then back at Bucky. _He’s mine now._

            It was all Bucky could do to keep from beaming.

            His therapist and the trainer started arguing. Bucky and Steve kept walking. Rosie followed them. As far as Bucky heard she didn’t even stop to give the frantic trainer a second glance. When they got to the door, Bucky held up a finger to Steve and pulled out his phone.

            “Director Fury?”

            “You’re lucky I’m between meetings, Barnes. What’s up?”

            “You got all those papers ready for the dog?”

            “I don’t do things halfway.”

            “Can we sign them all right now? She’s ready to come home with me but her trainer is, um, a little upset.”

            Fury sighed. “Give me fifteen minutes. Don’t move.” As he hung up, Bucky caught a muttered, “Don’t have enough interns for this.”

            “SHIELD has interns?” he asked Steve as he returned his phone to his back pocket.

            Steve shrugged. “Not that I know of. Though it might be a good idea. Long as they can make sure we’re bringing in loyal- wait, do you think they pay the interns?”

            Gave them something to talk about while Fury had the papers sent over.

            Trainer couldn’t be mad after that.

            “Come on, baby girl. Let’s go home.”

            Rosie came to walk next to Bucky on the way down the hall.

            “I’m screwed,” Steve said observationally.

            “Yeah,” Bucky said, smiling, “you are.”

*

            Bucky got a text in the car explaining that he could come in anytime before ten, call the car half an hour in advance, it’s not ideal but we have trainers on standby if this one won’t cooperate.

            “What are you grinning about?” Steve asked. He had to crane his neck to look in back because Rosie was in his usual seat.

            “We got a dog.”

            Steve laughed. “You got a dog. I got a roommate.” His smile was fond, though. Sap.

            “I got a dog.” Bucky stared at Rosie for a second. Her expression clearly stated that she was the one who had a Bucky. He didn’t mind, long as she shared with Steve. “You did the house and I have a dog. That’s about even, right?”

            The reverence in Steve’s voice was enough to break through the lightness. “You did the basement.”

            “Guess it’s too hard to keep track. Damn. Means I have to keep doing you favors forever.”

            “Only if I get to do them too.”

            Rosie shot Steve a look.

            Bucky laughed. “Oh, man. She sees right through you.”

            “Didn’t think I was hiding anything.”

            “Don’t have to be, Stevie. My dog is psychic.”

            “She should ride in front next time. Help avoid the traffic.”

            Bucky held Rosie’s hand the whole way home. Couple times he caught Steve beaming at them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOTH FINAL CHAPTERS NEXT WEEKEND then it's on to me trying to catch up on the next one... how many will there be? five? six? theoretically I could keep writing these forever

            Insistent though Rosie may have been about breaking every rule of her training to follow Bucky (huh, familiar), the extent to which the rules were being broken meant Bucky at least had to take home some informational paperwork. To read and follow the instructions. So as not to confuse Rosie so that when they went for training the next day she hadn’t forgotten she was a service dog.

            Bucky didn’t think she would forget she was a service dog. Rosie was smart. And if she’d worked with a few people and was still eligible for him, that meant she was also not typically a rule-breaker. Which made the situation more unusual and made it even more important for Bucky to follow the rules while he was breaking the rules.

            “This says she can’t sleep in our bed right away.” Bucky was sitting in the living room reading his instructions; Rosie was sitting on the floor next to him.

            Steve had his hands in his pockets and was standing a few feet away. “Well, yeah. We fucked up the process pretty bad, Buck. So did she. And she’s your service dog. We don’t wanna confuse her any more than we already have.”

            Bucky turned from the papers to Rosie. “I don’t think she’s confused. Here, there’s a list of basic stuff she knows how to do. Rosie, down.”

            Rosie slid into laying position, taking up an impressively small amount of space considering she was huge.

            “Rosie, sit.”

            She sat back up again.

            “See? I think she’s fine, Steve. I mean, she’s still got the vest on. I guess if we take it off she can switch back into dog mode? That’s what it says here. But I don’t know if we should do that. These aren’t so much rules for her coming home as they are instructions I’m supposed to read before I start training with her…” Bucky scanned the rest of the list and looked up at Steve. “But I don’t want to not let her take a break. You know?”

            Steve held out his hand for the papers, gave them a once-over. “Well, you’re supposed to take the vest off when she’s home. Or off-duty. I guess at some point it’s up to your discretion whether that’s just in our house or not. And dogs that aren’t service dogs still follow basic commands. I think as long as we keep her focused on you and don’t mess with their feeding times, we should be okay.”

            Bucky looked down at Rosie. Same calm stare back. “Ah, fuck it.” He undid the vest and set it on the coffee table.

            Rosie looked more relaxed. She laid down. But she didn’t look less aware.

            “Huh,” Bucky said. He stood. Rosie sat up. He took a few steps towards the kitchen. She watched, but didn’t follow. “Think I should ask her to do something? Ah, maybe we shouldn’t have done this. I mean, I know she was the one breaking the rules in the first place…” Bucky trailed off, staring at Rosie.

            Steve’s tone got his eyes up. “You can do whatever you want, Buck. She’s your dog.”

            “I don’t want to do whatever I want. I want her to do whatever she wants.”

            Steve’s expression flickered. “Oh.”

            “Rosie.” She looked up from gazing around the room. “You don’t have to sit there. You can go wherever you want.” Bucky took a few steps around to demonstrate. “Off the clock. Don’t need to follow me.” Still nothing but eye-contact.

            “Hey, Buck… maybe we should ask her to check the house?”

            Bucky’s eyes snapped up to Steve. “What?”

            “It’s one of the things she can do. Scan for danger and stuff. I don’t know the extent of it, obviously you’re supposed to learn that in training. Maybe it’d get her more comfortable with the place?”

            Bucky cocked his head. “Yeah, but I don’t want her scanning our house. This is supposed to be a safe place, Steve. And the vest’s off. She shouldn’t be working when it’s off, plus the only time I would want her to scan the house is if she absolutely needed to.”

            “Why don’t I put away that food and stuff they gave us and you hang out with her for a while? Maybe give her a tour?”

            Bucky sighed. He wasn’t going to go ordering Rosie around the house, but Steve had a point; he should show her around since she lived there now. “Okay. I’ll figure something out. You two can get to know each other later.”

            Steve disappeared into the kitchen cabinets.

            Bucky went back over to Rosie and sat on the floor in front of her. “So, this is our house. I know I told you that in the car. It’s your house now. I feel like you can understand me.

            “I guess we should do the important stuff first.” Bucky picked up the sheet Steve had abandoned on the coffee table. “You’re supposed to pee at regular times I guess. You want to see the yard? I haven’t been out there much. All Steve’s got is grass and that shed, and it’s been so cold.” Bucky stood and went through the guest room to the back door. “Right. Rosie, you wanna come outside?”

            Rosie came around the couch and followed Bucky into the guest room.

            “Great. We’re going outside, Steve.”

            “Have fun.”

            There was a little slab of concrete in front of the back door; at first Rosie only went a few steps past it, staying close to Bucky. Then she glanced around the yard. Then she did a perimeter sweep.

            “Damn,” Bucky said under his breath. “You really know what you’re doing, huh, Rosie?”

            Eventually she’d explored the whole yard and went to sit about six feet from Bucky.

            “Ready to go in?”

            The rest of the day went much the same. Bucky didn’t say a goddamned word to her that could be taken as an order- except telling her to come places, but that was so he could show her stuff- and she ate and peed when she was supposed to. Bucky was pretty sure she and Steve had a nice long conversation when he was in the shower, too, because when he came out Rosie was sitting right next to him with her head in his lap.

            “You two gettin’ along?”

            “Turns out we have a lot in common. Apart from you, I mean.”

            Rosie turned to Bucky and made a low noise of agreement.

            “Did she just bark? No, that wasn’t a bark. It was more like talking. You gonna be yelling at me, too now?”

            Rosie made the noise again.

            God Bucky loved her.

*

            After a night spent on the floor next to their bed and another successful few hours of eating and peeing, Bucky and Rosie headed back to the tower for training. It was recommended that Steve be there at some point, but Rosie wasn’t really his responsibility and he’d read the basics already. He didn’t need to be around for all five days of training.

            Normally training took twice as long. The perks of having SHIELD expedite everything for you. Or maybe it was Tony Stark doing it; Bucky found out an hour into the day that he’d built the obstacle course. Even though he probably had other more pressing tasks. And was not a trained professional. Far as Bucky knew he’d never even had a dog.

            They used the same training space where Bucky and Rosie had met the day before, except now there were a bunch of fake buildings and benches and stuff around. And they were using the adjoining rooms, too, because Tony Stark’s spare gym was not a proper Bucky and Rosie training area and Rosie needed safe places to drag Bucky if he looked like he was freaking out.

            His pretending to freak out only turned into really freaking out once, and Rosie got him into a quiet secluded area where he could breathe through it.

            “That wasn’t a real attack. If I was really bad she’d need to take me home.”

            The trainer sighed. Used to Bucky and the rushing by then but not necessarily loving it. “We won’t do that part until last. And this city isn’t exactly the easiest place for route training. I can help with the basics, but I can only do so much.”

            “That’s fine. I know how to walk everywhere important, and I’m pretty confident she can get me calm enough to call Steve if I don’t know where we are.”

            “We can outfit her with an emergency call button.”

            Bucky shook his head. “Bad idea. Unless it calls Steve. Or Bruce. Guess it’d be okay to call some people here. Don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to end up in the emergency room.”

            “Right.” The trainer _was_ much more patient that day, having been written into the full confidentiality thing and thus informed of Bucky’s situation beyond the controlled details leaking on the news. “If that’s something you want to do, you can always contact me later to help train her. There are other people who’d be knowledgeable enough to do it, but we recommend you come to us first, since we’ve been working with these dogs since they were small.”

            The second day of training Bucky’s therapist bumped their appointment to a time when she could stop by the tower so Bucky wouldn’t have to be wandering the streets with Rosie until they were ready; third day he didn’t panic once, and the rest of training went smoothly after that. Apart from some of the route training, because Rosie and her trainer had come in from upstate and were thus not especially familiar with such a big city.

            Friday Bucky came home with diplomas for him and Rosie and the trainer’s official seal of approval to leave the house (albeit anonymously) as long as he limited Rosie’s new territory to a few blocks a week.

            “Congratulations,” Steve said, with a hug for Bucky and a pat on the head for Rosie. They weren’t especially close, but Bucky had a feeling they’d be snuggling on the sofa before the month was over.

            Then the doorbell rang.

            “Ah, fuck,” Steve said. “Fury’s stopping by.”

            “Why didn’t he just ride with me?” Bucky asked, forcing down the panic. Rosie heard it and her eyes flicked from the doorbell to Bucky. “It’s alright, girl. We’re home. Here.” Bucky took off the harness. Rosie didn’t react.

            “I’ll go meet him,” Steve said. “He just has to drop something off, Buck. I’ll be back in a second, I promise.”

            Door opening. Steve talking to Fury through it, low voices, bit of laughter. From Steve. Wasn’t genuine. Always fake when he knew Bucky was panicking. Damned angel.

            Door snapped shut, Steve came back with a manila envelope in his hand. “You alright, Buck?”

            “M’fine, Steve. I’m fine.” And he was. Because he’d already known Fury knew where their house was and it wasn’t like he was coming in.

            Bucky’s breathing slowed down. Steve and Rosie dropped their respective looks.

            “It’s your paperwork- or, not your paperwork, your- here. He was out when you left the tower and wanted to deliver it personally.”

            “Oh.” Bucky took the envelope. He knew what was in it. Respected Fury’s sincerity even though not even Rosie, who Bucky was pretty sure could rip out his other eye if she had to, was enough to keep him calm in the face of an unexpected houseguest.

            Bucky knew what it was. It was him. His things. Proof of him. Proof of his life, his existence. Or the physical proof people cared about, anyway. Social security card. Driver’s license. Birth certificate. Passport. Couple fake bills sent from SHIELD in case he wanted a library card or something.

            And a letter. An official letter.

            He had to sit. He sat on the ground.

            “Buck?”

            “I’m okay, Steve. I’m okay.” Crying, but okay. “I didn’t think they were gonna do this. Not all of it. I mean I guess I knew they’d have to make this kind of stuff for me, I just didn’t think-” he cut off with a laugh when he felt Rosie’s nose nudge his shoulder. “I’m okay, baby. Just happy.”

            He even had a card explaining Rosie’s status. Case he got in an emergency or something. Though Bucky wasn’t planning on it. He was planning on getting a car, maybe, getting his own bank account and some junk mail and subscriptions to magazines and a bunch of other stuff that said it was meant for James Buchanan Barnes, who lived on Steve’s street, in a house with Steve, and was born right after the first world war even though he could pass for a guy in his mid-twenties on a good day…

            Steve handed him the tissues.

            Bucky looked up at him. “Thank you, Steve.”

            “No need to thank me, Buck. This one was all you.”

            Bucky laughed and looked down again. At the stupid should-have-been-meaningless paper proof that he was alive.


	9. Chapter 9

            Very rarely did Bucky wake up not certain he was really awake.

            Everything that was supposed to be there was there. Steve he could take or leave, God knew he’d dreamt about Steve, but all the sensations were the same. The light coming in at that angle when the alarm clock went off. Rosie looking up at him-

            Worried. She was worried. That was a good sign. Bucky and Rosie had known each other barely more than a week. He wouldn’t have imagined her, much less staring with that knowing look, if he were dreaming, right?

            He went through the motions. Breakfast. Steve kept touching his back all gentle in reassurance. Said, “I’m right here, baby” a few times. But Bucky must have still looked like he wasn’t sure he was awake, because Steve kept doing it.

            Damn if Bucky was gonna stop him. He didn’t feel awake enough. He had to be awake, why didn’t he feel awake? Oh. Kept floating away and then sinking back every time he remembered. He was going public. Soon. Probably why he felt like he was underwater. Because he’d known the second he got that text from Fury last night that it could be any minute they called, any minute they showed up and told him it was time.

            Wouldn’t spring it on him like that. But still. Had to be something. He wouldn’t feel so wrong for no reason.

            Thing that finally convinced him was Natasha. Bucky knew it wasn’t a dream when they got a visit from Natasha.

            “I’m here to prep you for the media shitstorm tomorrow.”

            Bucky sighed and sat up straight. Turned off the TV. Hadn’t been watching it anyway. Mostly just a distraction from whatever was going to happen that was making him feel all tense and numb at the same time. Here it was. “How bad is it?”

            “Not bad.” Natasha took a seat and set a folder on the coffee table. “We already restrict which media representatives are allowed in the building, let alone up to see important press conferences like this. I brought the list to run by you. Anyone you want out is out.” Natasha pulled a sheet from the folder and handed it to him.

            Bucky glanced at it and grimaced. “Fox News? Do we have to?”

            “I know it’s a pain in the ass, but it can’t be that obvious we’re taking sides.”

            Steve set a coffee in front of Natasha and perched next to her on the edge of the couch, his own mug in hand. “Don’t get me wrong, party system’s a clusterfuck, I just- you sure we can’t have a position? Ever?”

            “This one’s not about having a position, Steve. It’s about making everybody love us.”

            Bucky was sure to shoot Steve a look not to worry. Nat launching into things was helping him shake off the grogginess. Yeah, it sucked, but he had a goal now. A reason he was feeling the way he was feeling. And a solution. Or at least the beginning of one. It may not be tomorrow, or next week, but he was hell-bent on making sure everyone on the planet knew how Bucky felt about civil rights. Including the ones that impacted his legal ability to fuck Steve. “It’s about making everybody loves _me_. Got any ideas?”

            Steve scrunched up his face like he knew what Bucky was thinking and took a sip of his coffee.

            “You seem to be doing pretty well so far,” Nat offered with a nod to Rosie.

            Rosie was sitting next to Bucky’s feet. Which had giant pink slippers on them. Which was maybe what Nat had been nodding at. “It was these or the three-hundred-dollar tank top. Think it was a pretty good trade-off.”

            Natasha’s head whipped around to Steve. “You made him choose between high fashion and one of the greatest comforts of the modern age? And then didn’t even bring him coffee?”

            Before Steve could answer, Bucky said, “He didn’t make me choose. He just reminded me of our roots and that the slippers wouldn’t get wrinkled when I was in your blanket nest. And I had one cup. Two makes me crazy.”

            Nat settled into her seat. “I’ll get you the tank top for Christmas.”

            “I’ll send you a link. What are we looking at, aside from the journalists?”

            “Not much. Usual amount of camera coverage, though we screened them about twice as hard as we normally would have just in case. I know this is kind of short notice, since you only said on Saturday you’d be ready to-”

“No,” Bucky said. “It’s fine. I get why you’re doing it. Day before Thanksgiving? Sounds damn strategic if you ask me.”

Nat smiled. “Thanks for the compliment, though it wasn’t me who picked the date. And you can change your mind. At any point. Just so you know.” She flipped through a few sheets. “Rosie going to be in back, or what?”

            Bucky sighed again. “I don’t know. I mean, I obviously don’t want her to be in the spotlight, and I know they’re gonna find out pretty quick and my anonymity in public goes totally out the window.” No one had come close to recognizing him because he’d been taking Rosie out. Not that he’d been going out much, but still. People expected him to be in hiding. Not wandering around New York with a service dog. “Think you’d be okay at home, girl?”

            She stared up at him.

            “Yeah. It’ll be better we leave her at home this time. Too chaotic.”

            “I’ll be with you.” Steve sounded like he wanted to hold Bucky’s hand. Too far away.

            Bucky offered a reassuring smile. “I know. And we’ll have Bruce on standby with the drugs. Just in case.”  
            Natasha furrowed her brow. “You don’t have to do that. We know you’re stable.”

            Bucky shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Like to be prepared. Because I can think I’m gonna be fine all I want. Still a good idea to have backup. Not like I’ve been in a situation like this before.”

            Natasha sounded hesitant. “If that’s what you want. If that’s okay with everybody.”

            “If you’re worried about my therapist, don’t be. She’s been hooked on this charm for months. Thinks I’m a genius. I don’t have half as many years of education as she does, so I’m not really sure why… hell, same goes for Bruce. Just give me a few minutes to butter him up.”

            Nat’s eyes went wide. She turned to Steve. “Has he been like this the whole time?”

            Steve shrugged. “Kinda just how he is. Once he found out I was still whipped he started slipping into it like always.”

            Nat blinked between them. She’d only seen Bucky in passing since the housewarming party months ago, and, for all the jokes he made around her, he hadn’t been this cocky before. Of course, she seemed to be picking up as much on Steve’s starry eyes as she was Bucky’s confidence. “Are you two gonna be like this during the press conference? Because I don’t know if shoving in people’s faces how much you love each other is the best angle for a first impression.”

            “This is nothin’. Stevie, c’mere.”

            “Oh my god,” Steve said. “You’re ridiculous.” But he did it.

            Once Steve was next to him Bucky climbed into his lap and slung his arms around Steve’s neck, still facing Natasha.

            “You two are so cute. Maybe the public would take it in stride.”

            Bucky tsked. “I would never be seen like this in public, Natasha. It’d ruin my image. Gotta keep up some of that grit or people’ll think I’m faking my transformation.”

            Nat shook her head. “Shame you two haven’t fucked yet. Pretty sure we’ve got better lube now.”

            “I take that as an insult to my resourcefulness,” Bucky said, as Steve sputtered, “We’ve- I mean technically it was- wait, you’re not in on the bet, too are you?”

            “I’m not in on the bet. Read people too well. Wouldn’t be fair. Also it’s super-cheating because Steve tells me everything with his face even when he’s trying not to. Now are we going to get some work done, or is this cuddling hour? Because I’m good with either, I just don’t want you to be unprepared.”

            “Right.” Bucky put on his most determined look despite the fact that he was hanging all over Steve. “So we’ve got the press list, the backup, the Rosie plan. Steve saying anything?”

            Natasha raised her eyebrows. “Do you want him to say anything?”

            Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. Steve can do whatever he wants. What do you wanna do, Steve?” Bucky shifted to face him.

            “I can do whatever. Not gonna talk if you don’t want me to, but if you’re okay with it, I think I’d like to say something. Show my support.”

            Nat snapped her fingers and put pen to paper. “Steve’s introducing you. It’ll be perfect. As long as he can keep the goddamned lovestruck teenager look out of his eyes-”

            “I was Captain America,” Steve said, all seriousness. “I think I can hold a straight face for three minutes.”

            The past tense made Bucky warm. He poked Steve in the ribs. “Even about me?”

            “Won’t have to play it straight for long, right?”

            “Depends on how the PR team thinks we should handle it,” Natasha said, scribbling away. “I personally think Steve’s facial expressions are a gold mine in terms of winning the public’s endearment for your relationship, but again, that’s not necessarily the best move. And there’s also you two to consider in all this, which is to say- do you _want_ to go public?”

            “It’ll get out,” Steve said, deadpan, as Bucky said, “I’d do it tomorrow.”

            Nat grinned. “So long as that’s hypothetical, Barnes. Now, about your speech…”

*

            Bucky was really doing it.

            He’d thought that a million times before, sure, but apart from proposing to Steve he was pretty sure he wasn’t gonna think it about anything remotely that important ever again.

            He went to bed about three hours earlier than usual just so he could lay there and process it. Tomorrow he was going to officially be a real person again for good. Not a memory or a ghost or a puppet, but a person. To everyone. Everyone other than Steve and the six people he saw on a regular enough basis to feel they reaffirmed his humanity. Half of whom he was pretty sure didn’t know his name.

            Well. Would now. Would after this. After tomorrow.

            He didn’t look like any of the pictures of him. The old ones, the blurry ones taken over the years (the ones where he was a shape in the background), the recent ones, even. The only new ones that meant anything- apart from the handful SHIELD had been using for press purposes, the ones Jarvis took when Bucky wasn’t paying attention- all the pictures that meant anything were on Steve’s phone. One or two on the walls. Didn’t have enough yet for a whole album full.

            But they would.


	10. Chapter 10

            “You ready, Buck?”

            “Ready as I’ll ever be.” It sounded smoother coming out than ‘I think so’ or even ‘yes’ would have been. But Bucky was sure.

            He and Steve were dressed to the nines. Best modern-day finery Stark could buy. He’d had whole racks waiting for them the night before, so they could pick what they wanted and get it tailored at top speed. Step down from the red carpet, of course, they were supposed to look professional and businesslike and if Bucky had to wear a tie he would have screamed. Nice enough, though. He picked an almost-blue combo and Steve an almost-green. Steve had smirked about it the whole way through the fitting. Or not smirked. Smiled. For a thing that was theirs that no one else knew. Wearing each other’s favorite colors. It was the hand he couldn’t rest on Bucky’s back. The reassuring touch he couldn’t offer Steve.

            The tower had a handful of rooms dedicated to press conferences. Bucky’d been in after the fitting to see the one they’d be using. Small, but not too small. Big enough to hold the select few they were letting in without it feeling claustrophobic.

            And there were rules, too. Bucky didn’t care much about them, since he’d be at the podium for a minute and then gone. PR passed them along for his approval anyway. No standing, no shouting, no getting physical, etc. Apparently no one in the room was likely to do any of that. Still taking every precaution.

            Bruce had come over hours before they had to leave. Waiting was the worst part, and he knew that, so he and Steve tried to make it less bad. Steve had had to talk him to sleep the night before and the second he opened his eyes Bucky knew he was in for hours of waiting, and torture, and then-

            The thought of being him again, wholly and completely and for good, made him nauseous. Too many emotions at once.

            “-okay?”

            “M’fine,” Bucky said, glancing up to shoot Steve a quick smile. “Just thinking too much.”

            “Have you tried reading?” Bruce suggested.

            Bucky’s smile turned rueful. “’Course I have. You see the library up there?” He nodded towards the front room. “Can’t concentrate.”

            “Huh. I was wondering which of you was the reader, but I guess Steve did have fewer books that time I came around…”

            “You mean the housewarming party?” Bucky snorted. “He had, like, ten. Go in there now. Full library.”

            “I’d love to. But I’m supposed to be hanging out with you, now, not reading. What else can we do to distract you? Sudoku puzzles? Maybe a card game?”

            Steve narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Are these your normal self-calming strategies?”

            Bruce held up his hands. “Hey. I do what works, alright?”

            “No, it’s fine. I didn’t mean it like that. I guess I just have a hard time imagining you playing solitaire when I know for a fact you have seven doctorates.”

            Bucky’s jaw dropped. “Wait, seven? That’s a real number? I thought it was a joke? Not that you’re not smart enough to have seven doctorates-”

            “No problem. We’re all clearly a little on edge today. And no, I don’t exaggerate as much as Tony, they are all real doctorates. Though I wouldn’t have gotten past the third without a ton of help with tuition. You know you can get some loans forgiven depending on your job and relation to the government?”

            Bucky blinked. “You mean like me?”

            “You and Steve. Bet he could get an art degree, bachelor’s at least, with one of the programs between 1940 and today. Plenty that encourage you to go to school.” Bucky must have looked hungry for information, because Bruce continued, “I know a lot about this crap. Can help you do some research, if you want?”

            They spent the next two hours of the wait researching nearby schools. By the end of it Steve had a list of classes he wanted to take and was planning on calling some of the colleges up to ask about enrollment. Bucky was interested, but as far as he knew it’d be a good few months before he was ready to fill out an application. Maybe he’d sneak into one of Steve’s classes to see how he liked it.

*

            All too soon they were stepping onto the raised platform in the press conference room.

            Exactly as many people as he expected to be there. All looking nice, and tense, and professional. Tightly-wound but polite. Way you were supposed to look when you were following all those damned tower press conference rules.

            Steve’s introduction almost made him cry.

            He didn’t say that much, but he didn’t need to. Just enough to make it clear where he stood when it came to Bucky. Just enough to let Bucky know Steve was with him til the end of the line. If Bucky even needed reminding.

            Then it was his turn.

The press was loud, even if they weren’t shouting. Couldn’t help but ask questions while he was switching spots with Steve, even though Steve made it very clear he wasn’t answering any.

            They shut up when Bucky started to talk.

            Giving the speech felt awful. A lot less awful than Bucky had feared, because Steve was standing at his right shoulder and Bucky had meant it when he’d said he was ready. Still not great.

            He’d done all those things. Brainwashed or not. Said as much.

“I’ll never stop trying to be better. I’ve done everything I can to help this country destroy the last remnants of HYDRA, and I will answer the call if I’m needed. But I’m done now. I’m done with violence.

            “I have been in recovery for over a year, and I just got a service dog for PTSD. I have a therapist and a place to live and a valid ID that doesn’t expire for ten years, and I don’t plan on doing much in the near future apart from living as normal a life as I can. In the long-run I’d like to help other people like me, spread awareness about veterans’ issues and maybe even talk more about my experiences on the record. I don’t feel comfortable doing that just yet, though I plan on working up to it.

            “To answer your question, from me, not SHIELD, yes, I’m alive. And I’m sticking around.” Wasn’t right. He wasn’t ending it right. But Nat said- ah, fuck what Nat said. “One more thing. I’m totally gay for Steve Rogers. Actually, I’m just gay, I’m gay all the time, but I’ve been in love with Steve since before your grandparents were born, and I plan on loving him for the rest of my life so please leave us alone. Thank you for your time.”

            They were already breaking the screaming rule. And the standing rule. And probably the pushing one, and any other rule they were supposed to follow, but it didn’t matter because Steve was steering him out, hand on his back, smiling like- Bucky didn’t know. Hadn’t ever seen Steve smile like that before.

            “Barnes!” Tony said, waving his arms around. “They’re gonna blame me!”

            Bucky snorted. “Can’t see how.”

            Tony rolled his eyes. “Please. They’ll find a way.”

            Before Bucky could protest Steve was kissing him.

            “Sorry,” Steve said, leaning back but not letting go.

            Bucky raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t complaining.”

            Steve went back to kissing him.

            “Oh my god it’s worse than I thought.”

            Nat’s voice was deadpan enough for Bucky to break it off. “What do you mean? The press or Steve?”

            “Both, now. And since I’m in charge, I can’t let them blame Stark-”

            “Thank you!”

            “-but I don’t know who they’re gonna blame since- ah, shit. Alright. I’ll fall on the sword. Want me to say I told you to do it?”

            Bucky shook his head. “No way. I take full credit. Even if it makes me look like a sap.” He glanced back at Steve to find that unbelievable smile still plastered on his face. “She’s right, though. It’s bad. You think you’re gonna make it to the car?”

            “Shut up,” Steve said, jokingly, but then he nudged his hip against Bucky’s crotch in a way that suggested Bucky’s joke wasn’t too far off the mark.

            “Shit,” Bucky said under his breath. “Really?”

            “Fury alert,” Clint said in the loud voice that meant he was cupping his hands around his mouth trying to get everyone to pay attention, and Bucky’s eyes snapped left to find that, yes, Nick Fury was incoming.

            “Sergeant, can you please explain to me why you decided, on the eve of one of America’s most treasured and insidious holidays, to announce to the international population that you plan on spending the next seventy years grabbing Rogers’s ass?”

            “That’s not just him, sir. Bucky doesn’t have a monopoly on grabbing-” Clint started, but Bucky interrupted.

            “It was all my fault, I take full responsibility, punish me on Monday Steve and I are going now.” And they were walking.

            “Barnes! This conversation isn’t over!”

            “Monday!”

            As soon as they were headed down the secure back stairs both of them were laughing.

            “I love you,” Steve said, squeezing his hand, “You know that?”

            “’Course I do. And I love you. That’s why they let us escape like Romeo and Juliet or something.” Bucky gave it four stairs before asking. “Are you really that ready to get our pants off?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Stevie! Do I finally get to get you off again?”

            “We have to get home first.”

            Bucky rolled his eyes even though Steve was leading and therefore couldn’t see. “If we didn’t have a pack of reporters sniffing after us right now I’d accuse you of cowardice-”

            “Buck! It’s ten minutes!”

            “Thirty with traffic.” They made it to the ground floor and took a back hallway to get to the secret back lot where a cab- an actual normal yellow taxi who’d been paid off to look the other way- was waiting to spirit them into the streets unnoticed. “I guess I can wait. I mean, the endless joy of seeing you come properly for the first time in seventy years is all I’m getting out of this, so the timing is more your problem.”

            Steve gave him a very soft ‘you really mean it’ look as they slid into the cab.

            “My turn,” Bucky said.

*

            Being trapped in the house sucked a lot less when Steve was so clingy.

            Mostly they just sat on the couch wrapped around each other kissing all the time. They left the news on in the background. It was a good Thanksgiving parade, but by Friday it was a mix of crazy shopping news and Bucky. Also wild speculation about him and Steve. Most of it was wrong. Sometimes they had to stop kissing to laugh.

            On Sunday Nat threw a party because she and the other local Avengers had all been locked in the tower instead of pretending to celebrate colonialism. Except the party was for Bucky being reckless, so they actually had a good reason to have it.

            He and Steve had to drag themselves to the tower; nobody wanted to risk being followed back to their place, even if they were spending way too much of the November SHIELD budget on privacy.

            The second they were on the common floor Bucky took off Rosie’s harness and she went trotting around to meet everybody. By the time they were all sitting around in a post-meal food stupor Rosie had her head on Clint’s lap and Bucky was sitting on Steve.

            Everything was finally the way it was supposed to be.

            Well. Close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL I FIXED THE TImELINE SO NEXT WORK will FEATURE CHRISTMAS
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for all your support throughout. Hope to see you around on the next one :D


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